The Larks, still bravely singing
by shipstopper
Summary: AU Story: Mary wants to be useful and thus decides to go to France with the Red Cross to directly help in the war effort. She gets posted to a hospital behind the front lines to assist with evacuating wounded soldiers. There, she runs into Matthew and they renew their friendship amidst the horrors of war.
1. Prologue

_Hello. First fan-fic for Downton. I thought it could be an interesting story line if Mary decided to go to France with the Red Cross (like Isobel did later in Season 2). Set sometime after the end of Season one. Not sure where this is going to go but review if you like and I'll post another chapter. Cheers… AM._

* * *

Prologue

It was the waiting that got to her the most. The sitting and the waiting and the making calls and taking tea while war raged on across the English Channel and young boys came home on stretchers, with limbs torn off and eyes blind from gas, or not at all. They were all doing their duty, she thought. _"Are you a creature of duty?,"_ she remembered their conversation once. She knew that she was. So if all those boys are over there doing their duty what pray, was hers. To keep the home fires burning, as Granny had put it? Even that wasn't her duty, when someone else prodded and stoked and fanned the flames. Mary scoffed. Her duty was to wait. To wait until some rich husband came along and gave her life purpose. But what use would that purpose be to simply do the same waiting again, but in another house. Hers was a life of boredom, boredom and waiting. If only she could be more like Sybil, she sighed, who knew what she wanted and didn't wait, she went out and did.

And it was on that very thought that Mary got the idea into her head to stop waiting. With a renewed vigour in her step and a passion in her heart that she had not felt since the outbreak of this damned war, she strode over to Crawley House to ask Cousin Isobel for her help.

"Well, I'm not altogether sure you'd be cut out for such work Mary…" Isobel had raised her eyebrows at the idea but Mary had persisted; "I see no reason why not! If Sybil can train as a nurse why can't I be of some other use? I've read about women who play important roles in an administration aspect, recording wounded soldiers, informing their families and organizing their move to hospitals in England and such-like. Why couldn't I do that? I am very good at organizing things, juggling tasks, and I want to be useful."

"But Mary dear it's not a holiday to France you know, it's dangerous, its dirty and it's hardly the place for a lady…" but before Isobel could even finish her sentence, Mary, with her head held at that haughty angle and in a firm voice, interrupted.

"And what about Mathew?" Her firm voice wavered suddenly as she sounded out his name for the first time in months. "He's in danger and dirt everyday doing his duty, while I am just supposed to sit here and wait. I won't. I can't. My mind is quite decided. I came here to ask whether you could contact one of your Red Cross colleagues on my behalf…"


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One.

Three months later, on the deck of a hospital ship returning empty to Calais, Mary watched with anticipation as the White Cliffs of Dover moved farther away and out of sight. She turned her head to the faint coastline of France in the distant. Everything seemed so peaceful, even the sea was surprisingly calm in total contradiction to what would lay before her. A mishmash and cross hatch of trenches that scarred the French countryside. She thought about Matthew. _Matthew. _She had hardly the time to think about him these last few months as she had been readied for her new role. Isobel had put her in touch with the head of the Red Cross in London, a woman called Mrs Patterson, who was as ancient as she was fearsome and who, it was said, had worked side by side with Florence Nightingale during the Crimean War. The same women who had practically laughed her down when she had put forward the suggestion she assist the Red Cross in France in an administrative role.

"Administrative?" Mrs Patterson choked back her tea as if she was sipping lemon, "And tell me, what type of administrative work do you think needs doing on the front line?" Mary was almost too afraid to continue, having lost all her previous confidence. "We don't need administrators my dear. And quite frankly I'm not sure you'll do at all, but we're short on volunteers and Mrs Crawley has vouched for you. Can you drive?" And so after several months practicing with Branson and Edith, Lady Mary Crawley became a volunteer ambulance driver, much to the dismay of her father. As for her mother, Mary sighed, she had disapproved the most but luckily she had had Granny to remind them all about Aunt Roberta who had loaded the guns at Lucknow.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Mary was stunned out of her reverie by Valerie Wilson, the daughter of a baker who had signed on with the Red Cross the same day as her. She longed to escape the drudgery of life in London, and found energy in everything she did. Her shock of red hair appearing first on the ships stairs behind Mary, before she even saw her face, which was now poking up above the parapet.

"I was just thinking that this time last year I was a judge at the local flower festival at Downton giving out blue ribbons for the best peonies and now, here I am on the deck of a ship bound for war-torn France, an ambulance driver of all things. How did I get from there to here?" Mary's eyebrow arched up in stoical amusement.

"Quite simple Crawley," Valerie remarked with a grin, "You got tired of going to parties, taking tea and riding your horse?" they both laughed sadly at how ridiculous it all seemed now when not far from here men lay dying. Mary smiled to herself at how she could have come to have such a friend. That seemed ridiculous to her too, that in other circumstances she would not take the time to even know her. But she had come to rely on Valerie Wilson, as much as she had with Anna, her housemaid. Except that, unlike Anna, they really could be friends. Equals, and friends, she thought.

…

Several hours later Valerie and Mary stood on a crammed train packed with nurses and soldiers returning to the front lines. The faces on board were generally weary, which is how Mary felt at that moment, having spent most of the day travelling by road, by ship and now by train. The old carriages swayed and rocked in their gentle way, which soothed her somewhat, that she imagined she could almost be catching a train to Downton if it were not for the feeling of nervousness and excitement that cartwheeled in her stomach. They were destined for St Quentin, a small town just behind British lines, in the Valley of the Somme.


	3. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

The train chugged into St Quentin la gare with a slow beat, and the movement and chaos on the platform was like nothing Mary had ever seen. Wall to wall of uniforms and sergeants shouting and directing as men by the hundreds, it seemed, moved this way and that and the steam of the engine hissed out over them covering them all. Above the din, nearer the back, they could see a banner denoting the Red Cross, and they pushed and pulled their way through the sea of faces carrying what little belongings they were allowed to take with them in their khaki rucksacks. They had barely arrived at the Red Cross banner, which it seemed, was attached on a long pole that ended at a very plump looking Ambulance Corp trooper who shouted above the crowd; "Wilson and Crawley I take it" then spun directly on his heel and quickly walked off with a "follow me ladies" as he strode out of the train station and onto the dusty street to a waiting horse and carriage. And just as swiftly he dislodged their rucksacks from their shoulders and swung them up onto the back of the cart.

"Hope you're not opposed to riding in the back of cart? All the trucks and ambulances are, as you would expect, currently indisposed in the service of the King. Matron sent me to get you" and without another word he swung himself up into the drovers seat while Mary looked at the cart quite unsure what to do next.

"Come on we 'aven't got all day" and with that Valerie grabbed Mary's hand and pulled her up onto the back of the cart and with a heave too they were on the last leg of their arduous journey.

…

The cobblestones clattered as the horses hooves came to a stop outside the main entrance of the hospital where a few women stood, smoking in the cool autumn air. It was located in the southwest corner of the town in what was once an old convent, the great stone edifice looking out over the valley below. They were immediately met by a blustering Australian woman who wasted no time in organising her new charges.

"Crawley and Wilson? Righto, I'm Sister Davies, Women's Auxiliary Army Corps in charge of all the drivers here at the hospital. I tell you, we could really use you right now we are so short of men to drive the ambulances. Every time we get a new one, they get handed a rifle quick smart to take someone else's place on the front line. Grab your gear and follow me, I haven't got much time but can give you a quick tour, you're rather lucky to have come at such a time, in-between fighting and all. I guess that gives you a chance to settle in before the next big push which causes the usual chaos of casualties." Sister Davies had hardly took a breath from speaking as she moved through the outer buildings, pointing out where they eat, where they wash, wards for the men and wards for the officers, before coming to a stop on the other side of the convent outside a row of neatly parked ambulances, covered in mud.

"This is you lot. You sleep above the garage, everyone takes it in shifts. You might be called on at all hours, so expect that. You'll be rostered on in the first few weeks with an experienced driver to give you the lay of the land, can't have you getting lost and winding up in Jerry's trenches now can we," and with that she gave an raucous laugh but was already walking away shouting back, "do your jobs and you'll be fine, first shift starts at 5."

Mary stared on wide-eyed, and looking slightly perturbed at the idea of sleeping above the garage like, well, like a common chauffeur but her expression quickly changed to one of amusement when she realised that that was exactly what she was now, a chauffeur, and not a very glamorous one. They were in the process of discussing which bed to take when a voice shouted up the stairs…

"I need a driver!" The two women looked around the room, and finding no one, looked silently mortified at each other as if the voice might just go away by itself if they ignored it long enough. But it didn't, and again the voice called out "I said, I need a driver! Come on girls, there must be someone up there…"

Valerie it seemed, had lost all of her previous excitement and appeared rooted to the spot and so, rolling her eyes in the usual way, Mary shouted back down at the voice, 'just a moment' and grabbing her tin hat, with a sharp look at her friend, made her way down the stairs.

…

Major Findlay MacDonald, MD, stood at the bottom of the stairs impatiently looking up waiting for his bloody driver. His thoughts inevitably swayed to the unreliability of having women drivers during warfare and he pictured her faffing about putting on lipstick and trying to find the right shoes to go with her tin hat. Ha, he practically laughed out loud at the thought but all thoughts indeed ended when he saw Mary Crawley, like an elegant butterfly, glide down the stairs.

"Well?" her questioning look was followed by silence, so she continued with eyebrow raised, "you spent the last few minutes shouting up at me, now I'm here and you have nothing to say?"

Findlay cleared his throat, "I…I need an ambulance driver to take me to the field dressing station, an urgent matter you see, we need to be on our way is all." Immediately he held out his hand and added "Doctor…Major…Findlay MacDonald." Mary took his hand and gave it a shake, which, she realized, was the first time she had ever done so, that is, shaken a man's hand instead of him bowing to kiss hers. "Well, which is it? Doctor, Major or both?" The Doctor blushed profusely under her questioning gaze, his tough Scottish exterior becoming suddenly unsure what to answer that he quietly said "both."

"Shall we then?" Mary responded questioningly and made her way to one of the ambulances, pulled open the metal door and clambered up inside. Doctor MacDonald jumped in beside her and then looked on in amusement as she looked totally lost, looking this way and that, as if she had misplaced something. Her travel companion, having regained his former confidence, looked over and remarked coolly "looking for something?" Mary, seemingly embarrassed, sheepishly exclaimed, "The keys. I have to be honest I only just arrived today. I _can_ drive," she insisted, "but you'll have to show me the way. If, of course, we can ever get it started!" His eyes softened, and with a snap he dropped down the driver's sun visor and the keys plopped out onto her lap. A relieved Mary smiled nervously and within a short while they were motoring along the cobbled streets of St Quentin and out into the French countryside.

…

The field dressing station was only 12 miles from the main town, and only another one mile from the British lines. As they inched closer Mary became more and more anxious as the landscape began to change and became more scared with the impact of war. Rolling hills quickly gave way to pock marked craters and debris covered the road that driving on it was challenging to say the least. Mary had to keep her wits about her, dodging this way and that as obstacles came upon their path. A wayward cow. An artillery crater. A broken down wagon, even soldiers making their way back behind the lines.

"You get used to it." Findlay looked over at Mary and noticed the furrowed crease in her brow as she slowly served around another pothole. "The main thing is driving steady, especially when you have wounded in the back. That's why women are so good at it."

"Oh really? Well I'm not sure I feel very good at it at the moment" Mary retorted as she dodged the carcass of some poor unrecognisable animal, pulling up near the dressing station and taking special care to avoid putting any of the tyres into the mud. That is one of the main things her instructor drummed into her during training back in London: _"Women they say, can't drive. That's all they ever say. So if there is one thing you 'ave to prove when you get over there, is that you can."_

"Oh I think you're doing fine." Findlay gave her an encouraging smile, "Wait here until I'm done, and you can drive me back with a few of the wounded." And with that he was gone leaving Mary by the side of the road with only the sound of haphazard rifle fire imminently close in the distance.

…

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_Coming up next chapter, Matthew!_


	4. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Captain Matthew Crawley, with some difficulty, made his way down through the trench with the heavy and suffocating mud lapping and squelching at his heels. It wasn't even the end of autumn yet, he thought, and the mud was already as thick as custard. His men, from the Duke of Manchester's Own, leaned against the wooden embattlements smoking and eating out of cans of bully beef, all of them looking as miserable as he felt. He gave encouraging words here and there, but there were no words he could really give to these brave men who had lost so many of their brothers in arms. Their only respite from fighting was that winter was on its way and soon they'd be immovable. It wasn't much comfort, he thought, if they weren't going over the top they'd be sitting in a rotten trench freezing to death. He sighed. The options were only death, or dying. His mind flittered to Downton and the last time they had all been together at the garden party on the great lawn. The sun was shining then and he could smell the spring flowers and freshly cut grass. He physically winced at the last conversation he had had with Mary_**. **__You've shown me I've been living in a dream and it's time to return to real life._ She didn't love him, he'd decided, and a war was as good a place as any to get over it. A sadness washed over him as he raised his face to what little sun there was poking out through the clouds before he stepped down into his bunker. His home away from home, such as it was, only to stumble over Private William Mason, his batman and former footman of Downton, who was wrapping a rag, and not a very clean one, around his forearm.

"Oh you startled me Sir, I'm so sorry I thought you were at HQ."

"I was. And as usual the news is mud, mud, Germans and mud and if you're lucky we'll take another three inches by lunchtime," he laughed to himself at the irony, three inches and probably half a dozen lives to claim it. His mind went back to Downton. _When you laugh with me, or flirt with me, is that a duty? Are you conforming to the fitness of things? _ He paused, but was shaken out of his reverie by William, who was attempting to tie the ends of the rag together, and he raised his eyebrows at him, questioningly.

"I caught it on some barbed wire yesterday Sir, I thought it'd come right by now."

"Here, let me," as he took hold of Mason's arm and paused. "You should get this seen too; in these conditions it could very well become infected. Go back to the dressing station…" William started to protest but Matthew would not hear of it. "You'll be back by sundown and as good as new, Captains orders."

"Yes Sir," and as William started to make his way out of the bunker, Matthew called out after him, "see what you can bring back by way of supplies!"

…

Mary had spent the last hour sitting in the cab of the ambulance waiting for Major MacDonald to return and decided that waiting wouldn't do. She didn't wait at Downton and she sure as blighty wasn't going to wait in France. She made her way over to the row of tents that constituted the dressing station to see what she could do, but it seemed like everyone inside had their own concerns. She took a look around her. Men sat anywhere they could find a spot for themselves, nursing cuts and bruises, while others lay on stretchers and waited for their turn to come.

"Miss. Miss…" a quiet voice called over to her. He can't have been more than 16 years old, Mary thought, as she crouched down beside him and brushed the hair out of his eyes. "Could I trouble you for some water, if you have any?"

"Of course, just one moment." Mary searched about and found a soldiers canteen and poured the delicate liquid into his mouth. "Thank you Miss," the trooper sighed and Mary gave him an encouraging smile and squeezed his hand, "it won't be long now, you're doing so well." At that moment she knew what she could do, and spent the next several hours wandering between the men, giving out water and encouragement to those who needed it, and cigarettes and food to others. She had barely stopped at all herself when Doctor MacDonald took her by the arm and sat her down on an old wine barrel. She looked at him incredulously.

"Oh don't give me that look. You're exhausted. The men can wait for their water for five minutes while you have something to eat," as he handed her a bag of sandwiches. Mary sighed, she was rather hungry and was about to take a bite when a familiar voice cut in…

"Lady Mary!" standing not five metres from her was William Mason, a look of complete shock and surprise etched over his face, "I didn't expect to see you here milady!"

"Milady?" Findlay MacDonald's mouth started to curve up in a recognisable smirk as he surveyed the 'lady' sitting before him, the bottom of her skirts covered in mud, but she ignored his obvious hinting and embraced the stunned Private.

"William. How are you? I must say I am so thrilled to see you in one piece! But your hurt…here Doctor MacDonald will take a look at it for you," as she led him over to the wine barrel and sat him down. "Are you hungry? You must be, here have one of my sandwiches…" as she thrust one into his hand while trying to ignore the amused look of the Major.

"But what are you doing here milady?"

"What does it look like? I'm helping. Well, driving actually…an ambulance of all things if you can believe that!"

"I barely can," William said incredulously, "but I think it's fine of you coming all the way out here. A very fine thing to do."

"Well…" Mary didn't quite know how to respond, "It's quite nothing. So, how is…how is _Matthew_?" she enquired, which caused a quizzical look from Findlay as he noticed the change in her demeanour.

"Oh he's fine milady. And a good officer too, but we both miss Downton of course"

"Of course you do. And Daisy too?" she looked at him with a soft smile and he blushed. "Her too milady."

"Well, I'm almost done here. Try and keep it dry Private and it should heal in a day or two," as Findlay finished tying the bandage and gave him an encouraging pat on the back. William got up to leave; "Well, I better be heading back."

"Here," Mary held out the rest of the sandwiches, "give these to Matthew, they're real ham so I think he would like them…only…please don't tell him you got them from me. I think it best if he doesn't know I'm here…"

William looked confused for a moment, but nodded his head in agreement, "whatever you think is best milady." He nodded his thanks to the doctor, and started his one mile trudge back to the frontline.

…

"Sandwiches!" Matthew could hardly believe his luck. He hadn't had fresh bread, or ham for that matter, in weeks. He gave William an impressive nod. "Where did you get these from?"

William hesitated, and replied, "from…one of the ambulance drivers Sir."

"Well! I'm surprised he'd be willing to part with them, how did you manage it?"

"Well I…I well, he was…I'm not sure Sir she just gave them to me." Private Mason was squirming under his commanding officer's gaze, but he seemed less interested as he bit down into the delicious buttery goodness that William was able to escape back out into the trench. He was never very good at keeping secrets, especially from the future Earl of Grantham that he stood just outside the door, hesitating but a moment, before walking on.

…

The next few weeks for Mary were extremely busy ones. She spent most of her time ferrying wounded soldiers from the dressing station to the hospital and again to the Red Cross trains that sent them back to Calais and on to to England. She had developed quite the knack for dodging potholes and debris on the roads that she quickly gained a reputation as a competent driver. Even when she was supposed to be resting, she was helping out at the hospital in some way, dishing out food to the nurses or rolling bandages, and they respected her for it. It was tiring work, real work, but she had gained an enormous sense of satisfaction from it. And it was on one of those days when she was busying herself folding bed sheets that she was interrupted by a loud and cheerful voice; "Mrs Hughes will be out of a job if you carry on like that…"

Mary could hardly believe her eyes, as her mouth dropped open in total surprise.

"Sybil!"

…

_Review and let me know what you think so far ...AM_


	5. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

"What are you doing here!" Mary practically squealed (if one was inclined to squeal) as she embraced her baby sister.

"I could say the same to you!" Sybil responded, "I get back from Nurses College to find out you had run off to France!"

"Well," Mary gave her sister a superior look, "you're not the only martyr in the family!"

"I know and I heard no end of it from Ma-ma, the fact that she had 'lost,' as she put it, two of her daughters to the war. I had to sit through night after night of it. Anyway, it's of no matter now. Cousin Isobel told me where you were posted so I put in for a transfer, it took a few weeks, but here I am!"

With that Mary burst out giggling and, embracing again, Sybil daringly asked, "have you heard from Matthew?"

"No, why should I?"

"Well, he's here isn't he? I wondered whether you had seen him."

"He doesn't know, and I've sworn Cousin Isobel to secrecy so you mustn't give me away!"

"Oh Mary. He'd probably be grateful to know a friend was only a stones throw away," as Sybil gently chastised her oldest sister.

Mary looked down, regretful for a brief moment, "well, I'm not sure he'd consider me a friend anymore, after…well, you know…it doesn't matter now anyway," as she forcibly brightened, "tell me all about what is happening at Downton..."

…

Mary and Sybil sat in close conspiratory for at least an hour catching up on all the gossip from Downton Abbey. How it was being turned into a convalescent home and that Mama and Cousin Isobel were clashing over schedules. How the grand house had lost all of her footman to the war and taken on an Irish revolutionary for a chauffeur. Sybil spent the next few minutes talking in depth about a certain Tom Branson that Mary had to stop her with a curious glance. "Oh what?" Sybil looked on exasperatingly that Mary replied, "Well it sounds like you've fallen in love with the chauffeur my dear, what will the neighbours think?"

"I'm not in love with him…I'm…well, I don't know what I am but so what if I did?"

"So what _if_ you did?" Mary surprisingly responded, catching even herself that she laughed, "I'm a chauffeur. Just don't get any ideas," and they started giggling again just like they did when they were children, when they used to hide from Fräulein Kelder.

At that moment the very brash Sister Davies poked her head around the door to the laundry and interrupted their reminiscing with a, "oi you two," snapping Mary and Sybil out of their conversation. "I'm sure you two Sheila's are having a great catch-up but there's work to be done. Sybil, I need you to go up to ward five, Corporal Black needs his bandages redressed. Crawley, we have a convoy heading to Guillemont, so grab Wilson and an ambo and head on over, there's a bunch of casualties that need to be transported back to the hospital," and with a 'yes mam', they gave each other a 'until next time' glance and went back to their labourious work.

By the time Mary got to the ambulance bay, Valerie was already behind the wheel, shouting at her to hurry up as the first of the convoy started to depart. She swiftly climbed up into the passenger seat, grateful to finally catch up with her friend. She felt like she had not seen her in weeks, as they both had been working long hours and on different shifts. She had so much to tell her but before she could even start Valerie piped in… "What do you think of Doctor MacDonald?"

"MacDonald?" Mary repeated, surprised a little… "Well, Val…he's…he's very Scottish."

"Scottish?"! Val exclaimed, "you're not kidding!" as they both laughed. Mary turned to her friend, "I take it by asking me that question what you mean is that you _like _him?" Valerie feigned ignorance and sensing something more Mary continued, "if you're worried about what I think, don't…" but before she could continue Valerie interrupted, "well, it's just he seems to like you an awful lot…"

"Oh don't be ridiculous. We're friends, that's all. He has been very kind, but I'm afraid I don't think of him in that way."

"Well, I suppose you wouldn't, him being a middle-class Doctor and all, and a Scotsman! Not exactly fit for the daughter of an Earl!" Val had taken offence and Mary could feel exactly what she meant as soon as the words left her lips.

"I didn't mean it like that!" Mary exclaimed, "it's just that I….well…I rather am..." but she couldn't find the words to finish the sentence so she merely said, "I'm not ready, that's all…"

"There's someone else?" Valerie frowned quizzically, "you've never mentioned anyone before…"

"Well, you never asked," Mary said rather impatiently. "Besides, it's over anyway. I just…I'm just not interested. You needn't worry about Major MacDonald," and she gave Val a reassuring smile and her lips began to mischievously curl upwards. "Besides which, he's hardly right for the daughter of an Earl…." Val suddenly relaxed and they both burst out laughing.

…

The Colonel of the regiment had called Matthew to headquarters and that only meant one thing: they'd be going over the top. He always felt nervous when called to HQ but this time the rumour mill had been running rife that the British army would try for one final push before the winter snow set in. He had tried to ease the men's minds as best he could, but even he knew the likihood was high, especially when fresh ammunition was being distributed amongst the ranks. A staff car picked him up that morning to make the quick journey to Divisional Headquarters at Guillemont, a village stronghold surrounded by dugouts that they had taken from the Germans only a few months prior. As they travelled north however, their path became blocked by a Red Cross convey burning and strewn across the road.

…

Mary and Val were following the other ambulances, which placed them number three in the travelling convoy of five on their way to Guillemont. The journey was proving not too difficult with most of the debris on the road having been previously cleared by the Corps of Royal Engineers, and they were still laughing when suddenly the ambulance in front of them burst into flames. Abruptly Val served dangerously to avoid running into the back of her, and with a loud crash they cascaded across the gravel into a steep ditch.

Mary slammed into the dash as Val tried to wrestle control of the metal beast, careering off the road while flames licked around them, the sounds of artillery fire landing awfully close before they came to an immediate stop.

…

Matthew jumped out of the staff car and ran towards the first ambulance, he was furious, furious that the Hun could shell what was clearly marked in Red Cross colours. He ran to the first ambulance but it was nothing but a flaming jumble of scorched bodies frozen in their metal prison and the flames were so strong that they pushed him back, the heat searing into his skin so severely that he had to look away. All about him men were rushing this way and that, attempting to assist those who had been caught in the initial blast when the convoy came to an unexpected halt.

…

Mary saw her face smash forward into the dashboard before she felt it. The searing pain etching across her forehead that it made her wince as she slowly became aware her surroundings. The ambulance was resting at a 45-degree angle facing down and the steam from the radiator emanated outwards towards the shattered windshield, warming her face. She managed to sluggishly pick herself up off the dashboard and in a confused state attempted to open the door but it wouldn't budge, her arms were just too heavy, like rods of iron. Suddenly the door was being pulled open from the other side and a gentle voice was asking if she was ok. She felt like a feather in their hands as she was tenderly pulled from the vehicle.

She was in shock. She was in shock but there was no mistaking the bright clear blue eyes that were looking down on her.

…

"_Mary…"_ Matthew breathed out her name as if she were a ghost, a sense of confusion and astonishment creeping over his features. _My god!_ _ What is she doing here? _But he snapped out of it just as quickly and started calling her name: _"Mary_…Mary, are you alright?"

Mary snapped in surprise and responded a little too quickly, "of course, why wouldn't I be?" and in her attempt to push herself out of his arms Matthew held on even tighter, his expression full of questions that Mary was in no state to answer.

"Oh stop giving me that look and let me go," she exclaimed, "I am perfectly alright." As Matthew gently released her, Valerie limped around the corner a look of horror on her face… "They…. they shelled us!" she said disbelievingly. "They do that," Matthew responded coldly, "Are you alright?" "Yes" she answered. "Good. Come with me," his voice full of authority as he guided Mary quietly and softly placed her in the passenger seat of the car.

…

_Ok so here's a long footnote:_

_I have to say I cringe at the word 'Sheila' but I am sure any Yanks out there would love it (haha) perhaps a brash Aussie bird would use that term in 1917? Hideous. But however, I left it in for amusement purpose, if only for my own. For those wondering how I update so quickly, well, lets just say I get very little 'work' done once I'm on a roll as I am really looking for that elusive conclusion whilst at the same time wanting the story to have suspense and interest and be drawn out long enough to capture your imagination. I'm really enjoying writing it. And loving it that you're enjoying it too (hopefully). So review if you like it, or even if you have any ideas and suggestions (constructive criticism also welcome). Just wait till you see what happens next! Haha, thanks! …AM_


	6. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Mary sat upright on a hospital bed in one of the exam rooms holding a cold compress to her forehead where a rather large bump was now forming. Matthew was standing in one corner silently, of which he had been for most of the journey back, Mary noted, and she kept stealing a curious glance at him, here and there, while Findlay examined her.

"You have a mild concussion, nothing serious, just a few days rest for you my dear. It could have been much worse, obviously," and his voice softened as he took her hand in his, which did not go unnoticed by Matthew, "You were very lucky…"

"Oh my God, Mary!" Sybil burst into the room and rushed straight to her sister's side, Mary flinching in pain at the loudness of her voice, and recoiling back she snapped, "I'm fine, but please keep your voice down I have such a wretched headache" to which Sybil then proceeded to make her assessment much to Mary's annoyance.

"Well, I'll leave you two to it," Findlay smiled. "I'll have a word with Matron about getting you a few days off."

Mary stole another glance at Matthew and gave him a small smile, "I suppose I should thank you, for taking care of us…"

"When were you going to tell me?" he said rather pointedly, without shifting his gaze for even a moment from Mary's face. Sybil, taking that as her cue, awkwardly made her excuses and left, leaving them alone.

"_Tell you what,_ _Matthew!_ That I'm in France? I hardly see how it's any concern of yours."

"No_ concern_…for goddsake Mary, at the very least I'd hope to think you'd call me a friend, let alone your cousin!"

"Well," she unashamedly responded, "I wondered whether you already knew, what with my having run into William Mason a few weeks ago."

"William! He never told me…" Matthew was getting more and more agitated by the second, and had started pacing up and down the small room as if he were trying to wear a hole in the floor.

"Oh don't fault William," Mary sighed, "I asked him not to tell you."

"I'm his bloody commanding officer!" Matthew spun around to face her, practically shouting, to which Mary, with palpable irritation calmly replied, "And I am the daughter of the Earl of Grantham, you can hardly blame him."

They wordlessly squared off then, simply glaring at each other while Matthew threw his hands up in frustration. Mary was the first to bend, as he made for the door she placed a delicate hand on his arm, causing him to turn, startled, and he softened immediately as her eyes implored his.

"I _am_ sorry. I didn't want to tell you because I…I didn't want you to…well, I don't know what I thought." She frustratingly shook her head as if trying to get her straying thoughts together. "But I was wrong, and I am sorry I very much do call you a friend, that is at least, if you'll still count me as one…" she asked hopefully.

"_Oh Mary,_ of course I do, why wouldn't I? You know I only want you to be happy."

"I am happy Matthew," Mary quietly replied, "I feel needed here. For the first time in my life I feel like I have a purpose, my life no longer makes me angry" she laughed, "and I finally understand what it means to have an occupation."

They stared at each other for a long moment, saying nothing, before Matthew broke the spell gently, "Well, I have to get to HQ, I'll come and see you in a day or so, if I can," he gave her hand a light squeeze and made his way back to the staff car.

…

"Captain!" Valerie Wilson was hobbling after him as fast as she could manage as he made his way out the front door of the hospital and he turned around to face her. "I didn't get a chance to thank you sir for saving us back there…"

In a clipped tone, Matthew responded, "think nothing of it; I was just doing my duty."

"Is everything alright?" she said, concerned, "you look, well, you look a little upset."

"Do I? Well, you know, it's been a hectic day… and Mary is...oh it doesn't matter."

"Oh I do see…" Valerie looked up at him in sympathy and conspiratorially whispered, "Well, I wouldn't get your hopes up if I were you. She's in love with someone else, you know."

Matthews face fell as her words struck his ears. He supposed it would have happened sooner or later hadn't he? Only, he didn't expect it to be quite so soon. _MacDonald._ With his heart falling in his chest, he simply nodded "good day' and walked away.

…

Mary didn't see Matthew in a day or two, or even in a week or two and she had grown quite despondent about the whole affair, that she threw herself further into her work. She couldn't stand the idea that he would be sitting in a cold trench somewhere thinking badly of her. _He must_, she thought, why else would he stay away? She took as many shifts as she could to the dressing station near his line in the hope that she would run into him, or even William, but the only man whom she seemed to have more than enough of was Major Findlay MacDonald. No matter how much time she spent extolling the charms of her friend, it seemed he only made eyes at her. Oh he was very pleasant to be sure, but she had made it quite clear from the beginning that she wasn't interested, hadn't she? She realised that she hadn't when he stopped her one night at the end of her shift.

"I want to ask you something Mary…and I am not at all confidant of it falling in my favour but I need to ask it nonetheless…"

Mary was frozen to the spot and a sense of enormous dread passed through her. _Oh god please stop talking and make me disappear._

"I want to know if you have any feelings for me. I…I admire you greatly which I am sure you already know and I wondered whether, if you think it at all possible, in the future that is, of your returning those feelings?"

Mary's eyes darted around as if to search for a route to escape, but when they came back to his face she found him looking at her so earnestly she decided she owed him something more concrete…the truth.

"I admire you greatly as well Findlay, but only as a friend. I wish it could be more but, you see, there's someone else…someone from home. He asked me to marry him once and I, I live in hope you see and you deserve much more than what I could ever give you."

His shoulders slumped a little as if a weight had been lifted. "Well, I thought as much. We shall be friends then," he visibly brightened which took Mary by surprise, "I can't say it doesn't hurt a wee bit but like my Mother used to say," and perfecting a thick Scottish brogue he followed, "there's plenty of other lasses in the loch," to which they both burst out laughing, much to Mary's relief.


	7. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

The average life expectancy of a man of Matthew's rank and station on the front line was six weeks. He'd been there six months, since finishing his stint in England as the ADC of a British General and was currently sheltering in his bunker as the bombardment of the German line continued into it's third day. The ground beneath them was shaking as solid metal flew overhead, attempting to shell the enemy into submission, the noise so loud that if you opened your mouth you could not even hear the words that came out. The German guns would answer them, and begin to build, despite being told they had already been destroyed. By morning, they will go over the top.

They had been given new trench ladders, wire cutters and ammunition and as morning approached, men knelt down and prayed. "The attack will being at dawn," Matthew shouted, as their faces fell, expletives started, with a "fucking Fritz" and a "Jesus Christ" they took out photographs of their wives and loved ones, laying their precious possessions out with their last letters. The shelling stopped and Matthew looked at his watch. The second hand ticked slowly. The larks, still bravely singing, swooped and soared above them all. Thoughts from his past crept into his mind. His mother. Robert. Downton. Mary. He tried to envision a possible future but he could only think of the bottom rung on the ladder where his foot rested. He put the whistle in his mouth, and blew, and with one hand over the other as if powered by some unimaginable force, he found himself standing at the top of the trench. The German guns immediately opened, plucking and smattering into the ground in front of him and sending up tuffs of dirt. His legs moved as if they were not of his own, and he charged forward with the rest of his company, into the breaking dawn.

…

It was as if the earth was broken. Whole companies of men fell dead to a hurricane and it was as if they were moving, suicidal-like, through some unhuman world. _This is what hell feels like_, Matthew thought, and for the briefest of moments he thought he was already dead as a sergeant next to him, like a supernatural being, arched into the air as a shell blew his body backwards, leaving his soul behind. He felt a piece of shrapnel tear into the fabric of his tunic, numbing his arm, the blood-red warmth flowing down to his elbow. He opened his eyes. His legs swallowed up by a bomb crater, the dense water cooling his rapidly beating heart. He placed his hand on the man next to him, to urge him on, but he slipped down into the mud, already dead.

…

Mary waited, with the others, ready to go at the moments notice. Their job was to ensure casualties were transported quickly and efficiently back to the hospital. The shelling stopped and they held their breath. She prayed at that moment; _Dear Lord, I don't pretend to have much credit with you. I'm not even sure that you're there. But if you are, and if I've ever done anything good, I beg you to keep him safe._

…

They had to keep moving, and dashing forward to open ground, Matthew and William ran, crouching, to another shellhole, and another, and another, until they were only a few metres from the German reserve trench. Men lay tangled in the wire, held up like they had been crucified, a sacrifice to god. They cut their way through, and crawling forward dropped down into the enemy's trench. They were so relieved, and surprised, that they simply stood there a moment unsure what to do now they had reached their goal, before being ripped back to reality by the sound of foreign voices. "This way!" Matthew urged on the men, who by now numbered some half dozen, as they made their way down, catching the Germans by surprise and firing as they went. Before long, they were in retreat as more and more British soldiers flooded into the German trench, and they waited. Waited for the counter attack. The shelling soon began again, as the sun was halfway up the sky. Bodies upon bodies lay littered across no mans land. Torn limbs baked in the sun and the stench of death permeated all around them.

"If I get out of 'ere Sir, I swear I am going to ask Daisy to marry me," William shouted, as another shell landed perilously close. He covered his head with his shaking hands, a look of total horror. _Please let it stop soon._ By nightfall they got the order to retreat, and slowly they picked their way under the cover of darkness back to the British trenches. A sense of frustration surged through Matthew as he counted the losses of half of his company, and they back to where they started. He laid a hand on the wall of the trench to stop it from shaking, in disbelief of the senseless waste of men.

The Duke of Manchester's Own had taken but a quarter mile of the German reserve trenches, but in return the German's had retaken Flers. Matthew was weary and as replacement troops arrived, he slowly made his way back behind the lines, to relief.

…

_The first big battle is over…!_


	8. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Matthew joined the throng of men slowly trudging back behind the lines. His arm ached, and his heart ached too when he thought about Mary. All he wanted at this moment was to hold her close, but she did not want him. She did not love him. _I will overcome this_, he told himself sternly, but then he melted into his heavy boots as his legs simply carried him on, whether he wanted to or not.

At the hospital in St Quentin hundreds of men lay sprawled out in their blood-soaked uniforms on the worn grass beside the convent walls, their faces beyond caring whether death took them away. The sight made Matthew gasp. There were so many, and more still left behind on the battlefield. Ambulances were coming and going, and Matthew turned his attention to where they were pulling in, unloading casualties, and moving off. He surveyed their faces, looking for her, when he spotted Dr MacDonald assisting a wounded Lieutenant out of the back.

"Major!" he hurried over, and Findlay turned, his face a look of horror and weariness from the day's disfigurement, that it took him a while to recognise him.

"Ah, you're the Captain who saved Mary…I never did thank you. You want me to take a look at that?" he asked questioningly, pointing at Matthews arm.

"It can wait. I think there are men far worse than me who need attention."

"That's true. But, the task is so vast, I just don't see an end to it…" he responded despairingly as he looked out over the masses of bodies. Matthew was about to move away when he grabbed his arm and started to dress it. Findlay just shrugged and carried on, "well, you did save our Mary didn't you."

"Your Mary…" Matthew sighed and Findlay gave him a puzzled look.

"Well, I wish she was my Mary, but she fancies someone else I'm afraid." Matthew looked back at him in surprise. _Good Lord, how many suitors does she have!_

Trying to sound nonchalant he asked, "Any idea who he is?"

"Oh, some chap from home apparently. Asked her to marry him. Don't know what happened exactly, she wouldn't say. But, as long as she's still in love with him there's no chance for fellows like us eh?" he said jokingly. Matthew just stared back at him in disbelief.

"There. All done." He made to move off when Matthew softly enquired, "You don't know where she is do you? Mary that is."

"She's been driving causalities to and from the hospital all day. I sent her to pick another load up, but she should be back by now…" he said, glancing at his watch a look of concern slowly creeping in, "she left for Fleurs over three hours ago."

Matthew's face looked up in surprise. "Fleurs!" as the realisaton dawned on him. "Oh my god…"

Findlay could see the panic stricken across his face that he immediately snapped, "What is it man?"

"Last night, Fleurs…." He swallowed thickly, "Fleurs was captured."

…

Mary, Valerie and an RN called Bosworth bounced along the road to Fleurs. Beside them, the large forest that used to be lush with beautiful Norfolk pine lay charred and broken in ruin. Its thick trunks bent over as if by the hand of God. The shelling had come to an abrupt end that morning and the countryside had fallen silent, eerily so. Mary had driven along this route at least a dozen times before but something felt different. She wasn't sure what it was, perhaps it was simply the air, which smelled of smoke and gunpowder. They had been relatively silent for most of the way. No words needed to be spoken as each of them comprehended the scale of damage they'd seen done to men's bodies. The experienced lines on their faces would take years of peaceful English summers to uncrease.

Suddenly one of the tires blew out, causing a quiet gasp to escape Mary's lips. She grappled with the wheel as the thump thump thump of the torn tread flew out behind them and they slowly inched to a stop.

"Well!" Valerie gave Mary a knowing look. It wasn't the first time they had had a flat tyre, but thankfully this time they didn't have any causalities on board. Frustratingly, they quickly busied themselves with the process of changing it, while Nurse Bosworth leaned against the front fender, smoking.

"Oi," she called out to Mary and Val, who were in the process of lifting the old tyre off the axis, "there's truck comin', a few blokes will have us up and running in no time, " but as she stepped forward to wave them down her faced suddenly fell. "Oh my…"

"What is it?" Val called out.

"They're…they're Germans!"

…

Panic swept into Mary's eyes as the truck came trundling to a halt beside them and two enlisted men climbed out, shouting in guttural German. A shot rang out in the afternoon air and RN Bosworth collapsed down, lifeless, beside the front wheel brace. The men appeared to argue with one another about what they should do.

Mary stood frozen in fear as they rounded on her and Val like lions circling their prey. The older, more portly one trained his gun on them while the other roughly grabbed Valerie, screaming, and started to drag her into the shrubs that pocketed the roadside. As Mary reached out to stop him she was violently struck across the face with the back of his hand and she slumped against the metal hull of the ambulance.

By the time Valerie was dragged back to the road, her dress was torn and tears were streaking across her pale face. Her mass of red hair was smattered with leaves and debris from the earth. She reached out for Mary and they leaned on each other, fearfully, while the younger man casually strolled over to his friend. They were arguing again, before the older man, seeming to hesitate, cocked his rifle. Mary pleaded with him, begged him, "please, no…please just go on your way…" but his cold eyes did not waver again before he pulled the trigger.

…

_Nasty Germans! Hehe, bit of a cliff there. Let me know what you think. _


	9. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight.

Valerie came back up to the roadside, limping and broken. Her mind could barely register what had happened or where they were. She was in shock. Mary was still there. She saw the ambulance as she leant against it holding her head in her hands. She reached out for her, and grasping onto each other, she could see what they intended to do.

"I'm sorry Mary…"

"Oh my darling please don't apologise to me, you never have to apologise to me." But before Mary could finish her sentence, at the moment that the gun burst to life she turned, burying Mary against the truck's side while the bullets slammed into her back. They fell, together in a tight embrace.

…

Matthew was already on the road heading out into the French countryside, having managed to acquire a truck and driver at the assistance of Major MacDonald. The driver, a lance corporal from the Lancaster Fusiliers, was getting more and more anxious as they continued on to Flers. He kept darting to his left and right, and for what seemed like the umpteenth time, asked, "you do know sir that Flers is in enemy hands?" Matthew ignored him, once again, and told him to keep going. He slammed his fist frustratingly into the dashboard. _Where is she!_ A myriad of thoughts floated through his mind. What if she had been taken prisoner? What if she was hurt? But then he equally thought, hopefully, perhaps they were simply turned around and given leave. The Red Cross was often shown such liberties. But then, his mind raced, if they had been turned around they would have arrived back by now. All this, and more, cascaded through his mind as they tumbled headlong towards the enemy.

…

Mary didn't know how long she had been lying there in the shadow of the ambulance. She could not move. She could feel the weight of Valerie pressing down on her, and the warmth of her blood trickling onto her chest. _So this is what it's like_, she thought. _To die._ Night was falling and she could see the sparkle of a few stars as the sun began to set. The same stars that she could see at Downton. Their faces came into her mind. Mama and Papa. Sybil and Edith. Granny. _Matthew._ She closed her eyes and let the darkness seep in.

…

'Stop!" Matthew shouted, as he saw the ethereal outline of an ambulance, with one wheel off, sitting quietly by the side of the road. The truck came to a gravelly halt. He ran over to it, searching, first finding the body of the nurse. Her head hanging listlessly to the side, her mouth gaping open as if she'd literally died of fright. His heart sank as he desperately made his way around to the other side, and then he saw her. Mary. Lying lifeless on the ground, the body of her friend draped over her. He stood still for the briefest of moments, the shock echoing down his body as a pained expression drew across his face and he let out an agonizing cry. Falling to his knees beside her, his hands were not sure what to touch first, as the full extent of the scene before him sunk in. He slowly lifted Valerie's unbending body off her, the jagged scars of the bullets like a map across her back. Below her, Mary lay covered in blood. _"Mary, oh my god, Mary please_…" he was almost too afraid to even touch her when suddenly, she opened her eyes.

Her voice was a tiny whisper that he almost didn't recognise it when she spoke. _"Am I dead Matthew? Have you come to take me away?"_

"Oh my darling no, no…please be brave," he pleaded, as he gently scooped her up into his arms. But as he got back up to the road, the truck was gone. Panic gripped him."No!" he shouted, looking helplessly in both directions. In the faint distance of the fading light he could see a farmhouse smokestack billowing up into the sky and he cautiously made his way towards it.

…

The door was opened by an old woman who was warily pointing a shotgun straight at him. "Please" Matthew implored, "She is hurt…I need help" and remembering his school boy French, he continued, 'Anglais, s'il vous plaît, elle a besoin d'aide!'

The desperation in his eyes finally got through to her as she swung the wooden door wide open to allow him to pass through. Mary's limp arm dangled listlessly in front of him as he stood in the middle of the room, unsure where to go.

The room was sparse. There was just a wooden table and some chairs. A fire burned at one end of the chamber, the smell of boiling soup emanating up from the stove. She beckoned him over and he laid Mary out on the tabletop. He took off his tunic, and delicately placed it under her head.

The old women got to work, boiling water and fetching clean towels. Matthew was attempting, shakily, to unbutton her blouse, but she shoed him away with a tut. Without wasting a breath, she drew a large knife and tore at the fabric, exposing her breasts. Matthew looked away.

"Apporter de l'eau" she said. Matthew looked at her, "Eau!" This time with more emphasis that he snapped into action. Water! Yes. And attempting to make himself useful, he poured the boiling liquid into a bowl and came back to the table.

The old women grabbed a towel and dunked it in. "Je vais vous montrer. Voir?" She grabbed his hand, and covering it with hers, gently wiped away the blood. "Like this?" Matthew answered. "Oui" she nodded, as she started tearing bed sheets into bandages.

…

He could not take his eyes of her. His strong Mary suddenly broken so, as he gently and silently wiped away the blood. Her wounds were shallow, the bullets having been slowed as they passed through her friend and out the other side. He gently dabbed at the tears on her skin as he was unashamedly weeping.

…

Mary awoke with a start, staring up towards the ceiling. She didn't know where she was and in her panic, tried to sit up. A tearing pain ripped through her chest and she let out an excruciating gasp. _Christ_. And the memories of the previous day flooded back to her. She lay back down and with difficulty, and waited for her breath to return to an even tempo.

"Mary?" Matthew took hold of her hand and brushed the hair out of her eyes, holding her cheek in his. "Thank god," as he sighed with relief. "How do you feel?"

"Where I am?" she whispered.

"We're in a farmhouse, not far from…from the road. Do you remember what happened?"

A pained expression covered her face as she grimaced. "Yes," as a tear slid down her cheek. Tenderly, Matthew brushed it away with his thumb.

"_I know,"_ he whispered back, holding her gaze. "Flers was captured by the Germans."

"You…" Mary found it difficult to form the words. "You found me?"

"I will always find you," he replied as he placed a delicate kiss on her forehead.

"Oh Matthew…I'm, I'm so sorry."

"For what? Please, don't talk. Rest. Everything's going to be fine" but the concern spreading across his face told a different story.

…

_Ahhh, some tender moments there. How are they going to get out of enemy territory? When is Mary going to tell him she loves him? Just you wait….I may have to change this rating to M! Have a great weekend, and remember to review or I will be sad, haha!  
_


	10. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

The next time Mary awoke it was in an old barn, and the rain was pattering gently on the thatched roof. She didn't know how long she had been asleep, and found herself under a vaulted ceiling, on a bed of hay. She began to think she had dreamed it all, if it wasn't for the pain in her ribcage. She delicately felt under the fabric of her shirt, to the swath of bandages wrapped around her. She lay still like that for quite some time, recalling with dreadful clarity the events back at the roadside. She tightly closed her eyes. _This isn't happening. _But when she opened them again, she knew that it already had.

Matthew was lying on his side, exhausted and asleep beside her, his chest rising and falling with each new breath. Mary reached out and placed a delicate hand on him, as if he might disappear at any moment. And as if he knew that she was watching him, he slowly opened his eyes.

"Hello," he softly whispered, and took her hand in his. "We're in the barn," he said, noticing her frown, "the women who helped us last night has hidden us away," he smiled, "so we're safe, I promise." Mary visibly relaxed.

"What's wrong with my chest?" the words were difficult to get out as if she was being pressed in a vice, on all sides.

"You have some injuries. Perhaps a broken rib or two," he gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "I thought I would give you a few hours at least before we attempt to get back behind our lines."

"_I am not sure I can manage it"_

"You will," he whispered softly, "I'll help you," and pulling her to him, he wrapped his arms around her and she let him safely enclose her.

…

Night had fallen and Matthew eased his arm out from under Mary, where she still lay sleeping. Her breath laboriously sucking in and out in quick succession. He made his way back to the roadside, the night was still and in the cover of darkness he replaced the damaged tyre on the ambulance. Gradually snow began to fall, landing ever so softly on the faces of the two dead women. With some difficulty, he placed their bodies into the rear and solemnly made his way back to the barn.

"Mary…" he whispered, but got no response, and then louder this time, "Mary!" she awoke with a start as Matthew lightly shook her shoulder. "It's time to go." He gently placed a hand around her shoulders, the other under her legs and lifted her slight frame into his arms. A quiet whimper escaped her lips and Matthew captured them in his own briefly, before releasing her, and they exited into the night. The only evidence of their having been there were his footprints softly refilling with snow.

...

Matthew tried as gently as possible to lift her into the cab of the ambulance but every movement he took seemed to elicit a gasp from Mary. As he went around to the driver's side to get in, she had slid sideways and down onto the seat and he lifted her head up to rest it in his lap.

"Much better," she weakly smiled. He looked down at her and replied, "fingers crossed," as he reached for the ignition to turn the engine, but it wouldn't start. He tried again, and again it ticked over but wouldn't fire. "Come on…" Matthew desperately whispered, when Mary reached out an arm tentatively and pulled out the choke. Matthew tried again, and the engine sputtered to life. He gave her a wry smile and slowly edged his way back out onto the road.

With their headlights turned off and just using the glow from the moonlight, Matthew drove ever so slowly back towards St Quentin. Mary, still positioned with her head on his lap, had one hand on the lapel of his tunic, her fingers tightening around it every time they went over a bump.

"_Talk to me,"_ Mary shivered, barely audible over the hum of the motor, trying to take her mind off the agony she felt.

"What would you like to hear?" he asked gently.

"_Just your voice."_

"Why didn't you tell me you were in France?" Matthew asked softly, glancing down at her face, her eyes half closed, she sighed. _"Why does it matter now?"_ But when he remained silent, she whispered_, "I…I wanted to escape. Downton that is. Too many…"_ they went over another bump and she buried her face into his stomach, her mouth contorting into a grimace, before retreating, _"memories."_

"I thought there were only good memories of Downton," he replied, his face somewhat unsure of her meaning, but Mary was struggling to stay awake.

"Mary?" She opened her eyes again as his concerned voice reached her.

"_Oh, some good….you," _she exhaled, "_then there's…Pamuk." _Matthew looked down at her, confused. "Pamuk? The Turkish gentleman, the one who died?" his face a look of astonishment as his heart was shredded in her reply. _"He died…in my bed."_

"Did you…did you _love_ him?" Matthew painfully asked, but Mary had already slipped into unconsciousness.

…

Matthew was pacing. By the time he had reached the hospital Mary's breathing had become more laboured and he was beginning to fear her injuries were much worse than he had anticipated. _She was so cold, _he thought, as he paced a solid line up and down outside the examination room where Findlay had taken her. His thoughts, jumbled and chaotic, kept going back to what she had said. _He died, in my bed._ He knew what she had meant and continued to pace, trying to understand it. He looked up, and incredulously saw the face of one Lancaster Fusilier smoking a cigarette, casually against the door frame.

"YOU!" Matthew shouted, as he stormed over to the Lance Corporal, who clearly recoiled at his approached, "you bloody well left us out there, she could have died and then what!" he yelled, his eyes piercing into the trooper, his fists shaking at his sides.

"I did what you asked Sir," he responded confidently, "I took you there didn't I? And that place crawlin' with Jerries. A man can 'ardly be expected to do more. Besides which, she aint dead, is she!" he said it so rather matter-of-factly that Matthew snapped. "You cowardly bastard!" and swinging his arm, his right fist connected with a crack as he knocked him down onto the polished floor. He made to go after him again but the soldier edged back, and he was only stopped by Sybil coming out of the exam room, shouting, "Matthew! Stop it at once!"

He froze in his tracks and crestfallen, turned to face her.

"Now is not the time," she sternly replied, beseeching him.

Matthew straightened his jacket, and breathless asked, "How is…how is Mary?"

"She's hurt Matthew, but she'll pull through. Thank God you found her when you did."

Matthew nodded. Suddenly the events of the last few days weighed down on him that his shoulders noticeably slumped, exhausted.

"I have to get back and report. They'll be wondering where I am" he said dejectedly. "Tell Mary…" he couldn't find the words. "Tell her …" _Tell her I love her_. But his heart was too broken to form the words. "Just tell her I hope she is feeling better soon." And with that he walked out into the bitter night, with only the cool wind at his back.

...

_Hello Mr Pamuk! Where have you been hiding!_


	11. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

The old convent had the smell of ether and was crowded with bandaged men. The Red Cross nurses worked tirelessly between them, offering words of comfort and helping them with their letters. Findlay MacDonald was fast asleep for the first time in over two days. Those days had been hectic to say the least, but the worst of the causalities had been packed off to Paris and London. More still had died before he had even a chance to look at them. His left arm ached from where he had been continuously sawing, removing limbs beyond repair. _Those poor bastards_. He often thought he would prefer death to claim him than return broken in such a way.

So he had taken a moment's respite where he could get it and fallen asleep on one of his operating tables, his hand dangling down off the metal surface, the ground below littered with discarded pieces of bloodied men's uniforms. He was lightly snoring; his striking face so peaceful, like that of a child. And it was in this childlike state that Sybil came across him. She did her best to be as silent as possible, quietly picking up the debris off the floor so it could be sterilized, to ready the theatre for the next influx. She had spent the night restlessly by Mary's side and felt herself like she could sleep for England.

…

Findlay awoke with a start as medical instruments tumbled with a loud clatter onto the floor, his face reacting with such violent confusion, that Sybil quickly placed a hand on his arm to calm him.

He looked up at her, surprised, and sat up. "What time is it?"

"It's 6am. I am so sorry Major, I just came in to clean up. I should have left you alone but, it's such a mess," she replied, while glancing bleakly around the room, "and there are more casualties expected within the hour."

"It's no trouble. I was just… just so _tired_. I only closed my eyes for a moment, and that was over five hours ago!" he chuckled. "How is your sister holding up?"

"She's still asleep. But she'll be ok."

"Aye, she's strong. She'll recover soon enough." She stared at him for a brief moment, unsure what it was about him that troubled her, before carrying on with her task.

…

Matthew had returned to the front line to rejoin his regiment, or what was left of it. More reinforcements had arrived and he made a concerted effort to learn their names. _What is the point?_ He thought to himself, to remember a man's name that tomorrow may not need to be spoken again. He sighed, and wondered how Mary was faring. He could not deny it, her words had hurt him. _Pamuk had died in her bed_. He said it quietly to himself, letting it sink in. She had…_god, just thinking about it made him feel ill…_she had given herself to him, but yet he could not quite believe it. _Had he forced her?_ That thought sent tendrils of anger through him. _Is that why she had refused him?_ It was so long ago, that as he looked out across the bitter battlefield of torn earth and wretched carcasses, he wondered whether it even mattered. Another blast of shellfire landed near their trench and sent a shockwave of dirt and rocks over his head, bouncing off his metal helmet. He had so many questions. But the snow had already started to settle heavily across the mishmash of scars, as they silently dug in for the winter. Sharp shooters sniped at each other across the barren land, and Matthew knew he had to get back to see her one last time.

…

Mary was laughing so hard she could barely breathe and had to chastise her youngest sister for being so cruel. She had spent the last two days sleeping, or so it seemed. To be perfectly honest, she wasn't really that tired, not after the first day, but she tried as much as possible to close her eyes in an attempt to forget that evening by the roadside. She grieved so heartily for her friend, but had endeavoured not to show it. Sybil knew that too, of course, which is why she had spent the best part of the afternoon trying to entertain her. It was hard to believe the things they had seen in this war, Sybil thought, and in a way her innocence had given her some protection. But Mary, Mary had seen so much more, and so she was doing her best to take her mind off of it.

They talked mostly of Downton, swapped letters from Mama and Papa and Granny, and talked about the good things from the past. Mary talked often of her longing to ride Diamond again across the green fields and paddocks of the estate, when Sybil interrupted her musing. "Well, you might get a chance soon enough. You have to go back. The bed is needed by men with worse injuries than you I'm afraid."

'So, I'm being kicked out?" said Mary, raising her eyebrows like she used too, in that amused fashion.

"I'm afraid so. But the good news is you'll be in Downton by Tuesday."

Mary was surprised at her disappointment. Downton. It had been so long since she had seen its Jacobethan walls that she wasn't exactly sure of the feelings it would invoke. Once, she had resented her disinheritance from it, mourning for months having been stripped of it in favour of some cousin from nobody-knows-where. _Matthew_. She couldn't help but smile, her fingers coming to touch her lips where he last kissed her. But the war had invaded their lives since then, and she had come to realise that in the bigger scheme of things, perhaps all of it was irrelevant. She thought about Pamuk, of all things. Her biggest regret, and now, it had caused her greatest heartbreak. She had convinced herself she would never see _him_ again.

…

It took Matthew over four weeks to get any sort of leave, which was actually quite fast for the British Army. Relief had come to their squalid bit of line, and they had been granted three days. Three days, Matthew sighed. Hardly any time at all to get back to England, but most of them would try it if they could.

His first port of call was the hospital at St Quentin, with the intention of calling on Mary. He wasn't sure exactly what he would say to her, all he wanted was to see her face. He was certain that if he did, the words would come.

…

Matthew wandered the halls of the convent, sticking his head in this room and that. Finally, giving up, he asked a nurse where he could find Lady Crawley. "Which one?" she asked giving him a sarcastic look, when Doctor MacDonald, coming across them, interrupted.

"She's been sent back to England," and seeing the disappointment in Matthew's eye, he followed quietly, "it's you…isn't it?"

"Me what?" Matthew looked at him dubiously.

"You're the one. The one from home…the one she's, the one she's in love with?"

"Is she? I don't think so," he replied thoughtfully, "she refused me once, you know, I think that answers your question."

The Major sighed. He had already had a couple of Scotch whiskeys, which made him bold, and looking briefly to the side as if contemplating his next answer, he slowly replied.

"I don't think it does. I know, I am a man of the world." He smiled. "She blushes when she sees you. By God, she even blushes when she simply mentions your name. My diagnosis has been made and confirmed," he looked seriously at Matthew. "And you, you go into enemy territory, exhausted and wounded, to find her. You come back and punch a Lance Corporal in your frustration." He raised his eyebrows at him, knowingly. "You, I think, are still very much in love with her also."

Matthew made to stop him, as he frustratingly whispered, "You don't know anything, you don't know…what…what she's done."

"Done?" Findlay gave him a pitiful look. "What does it matter now, with thousands dying by the day? What is it that she could have _done_ to cause you to stop loving her? Love," he sighed, as his voice grew louder, "love is the one thing that binds us together. Love, Captain, is not something you put away so easily. It is not something that can be dismissed simply because we are disappointed. It is not a brief flash in the sky and then gone. That is lust, which any fool can do. Love, is what is left over, when everything else fades away."

Matthew stared at him in disbelief. When he continued, his strong Scottish drawl, on account of the whiskey, became even more pronounced, "I have seen so many horrors in this war. But there is one thing that I know, and that is love. If I had a women willing to love me with such honest abandon, I tell ya, I wouldnae be standing here talking to fuckin' Captain."

Matthew was stunned. The Major leaned forward and patted him on the shoulder. "Go…go and find her. This war will take everything from you. _Everything._ But, you have that. That one thing. Love. And that, my friend, will save us all."

…

_Hahah I've had a few Scotch whiskeys meself. Sunday roast and all that. So…let me know your thoughts?.. And where you can see the story going because, through some of your reviews (which are always appreciated) you've given me new ideas….so thanks! Let me know, and I might be able to incorporate somehow… cheers, AM_


	12. Chapter Eleven

_Quick preface: now rated M ;)_

Chapter Eleven

By the time the hospital ship docked at Dover, Mary had had more than enough of lying down. Although she was looking forward to seeing her parents, she wasn't looking forward to their disdain at her having been injured, and she was steeling herself for their criticism, especially from Mama, who hadn't want her to go in the first place. When she finally did arrive at Downton Hospital, she had spent a full three days travelling. Sybil had been kind enough to telegram them of her arrival, and explain in very brief terms what had happened. Mary had tried to insist she not tell them at all but Sybil was adamant. Considering that she would need a week of bed rest, she could hardly keep that a secret. They had agreed on a story however, that Mary had simply taken a fall.

"Hello Mary dear…" her Grandmother greeted her as she was helped down out of the back of the ambulance. They were trying to get her to sit in a wheelchair, but she wasn't having any of it.

"I wouldn't bother if I were you young man," as Granny peered over the bridge of her nose at him, "my granddaughter has been fighting the Germans. I wouldn't want to cross her."

Mary gave her sly smile. "Oh really Granny," as she rolled her eyes at her and gave her a peck on the cheek. "It's good to see you. Actually I was hoping we could go straight the house, I've rather had enough of hospitals to last a lifetime, and I'm tired. I need a bath."

"Are you sure that's wise dear? Sybil said you had broken ribs. Shouldn't you let Doctor Clarkson examine you?"

"I'm fine Granny, nothing a good night's sleep wouldn't cure. And I am sure Dr Clarkson wouldn't mind coming to the house if needs be."

"Well, the way your father has been behaving over the last few days, you might be better off staying here," she raised her eyebrows matter-of-factly at Mary.

…

Granny was right. It wasn't her Mama she had to worry about. Her father, since she had gotten home, had had a simmering amount of anger sitting just below the surface. He had kept it in check for the first few days, but when Mary finally came down for dinner a week later, he asked to speak to her privately in the library.

He was drinking a brandy by the fire, and Mary could see straight away he was noticeably agitated.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine Papa, really, you needn't worry."

"I got a letter from Matthew. He told me what happened."

"Did he? What exactly did he tell you? I was injured Papa, it was nothing."

"It's not nothing!" he shouted, and then much quietly he hissed, "You were attacked by Germans Mary! You could have died. God knows, your friend paid with her life, how can you dismiss it so!"

"Matthew shouldn't have told you that…"

"He told me because I asked him! Which is what you should have done!" His voice was getting louder and louder again, and Mary seemed to shrink back into the corner.

"I haven't told your Mother, because I don't want to worry her. But I can tell you right now, you're not going back."

"Papa…really you don't…" but she was cut off.

"I won't allow it Mary. God knows it's bad enough that Sybil is still there. That is all I have to say on the matter. I'm glad you're feeling better, but I will not have you put yourself in more danger." He sighed. "The matter is settled."

Mary was so stunned she said nothing, rooted to her spot as he walked through to the dining hall. She was not a child, she decided, she would make her own decisions, and if that meant going back to France, then so be it. She wasn't going to hide away like a coward.

…

After another three weeks Mary's ribs were practically healed. There were still some small scars from where the shallow bullets had burrowed in, but they were growing fainter by the day. She had decided to go back to St Quentin, but she couldn't pluck up the courage to tell Lord Grantham. She'd covered her intentions up by going to London first, to see Valerie's father. She had had a letter from him, full of questions, and so she felt she owed him some kind of explanation as to what had happened to his daughter. Only afterwards, she decided, she would write to Papa and tell him that she was leaving for Paris. Mary sighed. It wasn't ideal, but she couldn't bear the thought of having to have a row with him, when she was going to go anyway. If she could just put her words eloquently into a letter, he would then have time to get over it before she returned. She laughed sadly. Perhaps she was more of a coward than she thought.

…

Mary's heels clicked on the pavement around Eaton Square as she rounded the corner to her Aunt's house. The station at Kings Cross had been a ramshackle of soldiers and travellers and as it had been such a beautiful spring day in London she had asked the driver to drop her at St James Park so she could walk the rest of the way. She needed the air, to think. She was meeting Valerie's father, Mr Wilson, that afternoon and she had such a headache simply thinking about what it was she should tell him. She came up to the door of her Aunt's house and was shown immediately through to the drawing room, her arrival announced by the butler:

"Lady Mary Crawley, milady," and she was ushered into the room.

Lady Rosemund Painswick was sitting by the fire, taking tea. She looked up, surprised. "Good Lord Mary, I expected you over an hour ago. We've been waiting, haven't we Matthew?"

…

"Hello." Matthew gave her a shy smile. "I…I called my mother from the station and she told me you'd be here. I hope you don't mind…surprising you like this."

"Not at all, why would I. On the contrary, it's good to see you looking so well." Mary gave him a kiss on the cheek and stepped back. "How long are you here for?"

"I only have a day or so I'm afraid."

"Will you get to Downton?"

"Unfortunately, there's not enough time." Rosemund cut in, "Mary's running away, aren't you dear?"

Matthew raised his eyebrows in amusement, and was about to question her when she replied, "I'm going back to France. Really Aunt, you needed make it out to sound quite so drastic."

Rosamund gave her a look, "she's bribed me not to tell my brother."

"I take it Robert is not keen on the idea then?"

"No. He isn't. But, he doesn't have a say in the matter."

They stood there in an awkward silence for a few moments before Lady Painswick interrupted, "Well, I must get going, I'm meeting some friends for lunch at the Savoy and I am sure you too have so much to catch up on," as she gave Mary a light squeeze. "I shall see you later on at dinner," and giving a wink to Mary, she left.

Matthew looked back to Mary, "I have to say I agree with your father. I really wish you would stay here. You've done your bit, you have nothing to prove."

"And could you do that?"

"That's different, I have a duty…"

"A duty? How is that any different from me? I can't go back to Downton and make calls and take tea, not when all_ that _is happening over there," she swept her hand across the room as if it were crossing the English Channel. "You of all people get that, surely. Only you can," she pleaded.

He looked at her and nodded in understanding. "I just didn't want you to go back because, I…I want …" but before he could finish his sentence the butler tapped again at the door.

"The car is ready milady."

Matthew looked at her in surprise. "You only just got here!"

"I'm going to see Valerie's father. He wrote to me, while I was at Downton. He has, questions," she looked up at him uncertain. "Would you…would you mind coming with me?"

The thought of having to call on Mr Wilson made her eyes glisten as she attempted to keep her emotions in check, and Matthew softly answered, "Of course."

…

Valerie's father was a baker and worked in a small shop in Knightsbridge, a short drive from the house at Eaton Square. Mary had been going over in her head what to say to him, when she turned to Matthew suddenly and exclaimed, "What am I supposed to tell him? I mean, how can I? That she was…" her face was beseeching him; the tears threatening to fall again as she slowly lost control.

Matthew took her hand, and softly replied, "Mary, calm down. You won't tell him any of that. He doesn't need to hear any of that my dear." He brushed his lips ever so delicately across her fingertips. "Are you listening?"

"She saved my life Matthew, she died in my place."

"Don't say that," Matthew looked at her hurtfully. "Don't ever say that. She did a remarkable thing, there's no doubt about her courage, and that is what we will tell him. There is no greater honour than to give up your life for a friend. Remember that."

"I can't help it, I feel, I feel so guilty."

He gave her a knowing look. "I feel guilty all the time Mary, it's not that uncommon, you know."

Mary looked over at him so incredulously and asked, "What do you have to feel guilty about?"

"Being alive. That I'm still alive when so many others have been killed." He gave a sad smile, embarrassed, "so you see we're not so different, you and I."

Suddenly they had arrived and Matthew gently released her hand as the moment that Mary had been dreading since she left the comfort of Downton was in front of her.

"Mr Wilson, so nice to finally meet you, Valerie spoke of you so often."

…

The conversation with Valerie's father had gone just as Matthew said it would. Mary told him about the kinds of things they were doing in France, and even what they did on their rare days off. He particularly enjoyed the stories she told him of their weekend in Paris that they had managed to secure some months prior. She spoke of Val's excitement to be doing something useful, how she just loved to be away from the difficulties in London. And how, she had saved her life at the very end. "I'm afraid," the old man had finally whispered, "that no one will remember her after I am gone."

By the time they got back Eaton Square, dinner was ready, and she and Matthew sat down together.

"Where's Lady Rosamund?" Mary asked of the Butler, seeing the absence of her Aunt.

"Her ladyship had another dinner invitation milady, she said to make yourselves at home," he said, as he held out a plate of green beans.

Mary gave Matthew a knowing look as he raised his eyebrows in query. "Oh, she's always been unreliable. That's what happens when you're alone in a big house with plenty of money." She sarcastically remarked, "you do as you please."

"_You_ do as you please. Going back to France without your father's approval."

"I don't need his approval, I'm a grown woman. And if you hadn't wrote to tell him what really happened I probably wouldn't have to lie about it" she gave him a pointed look and Matthew, looking down, took another sip of his wine. "I couldn't lie to him, I'm sorry Mary. I didn't think…I didn't think you would be going back."

She sighed in frustration. "You're going back."

"I don't want you to go Mary, because I want you to be safe…" she made to interrupt him but he held up his hand in protest and continued. "War has a way of distinguishing between the things that matter and the things that don't. _You _matter."

"Does that mean you've forgiven me?" Mary's mind wandered back to Pamuk and what she had told him that cold night in the ambulance.

"No. I haven't forgiven you. I haven't forgiven you because I don't believe you need my forgiveness."

Mary sat stunned and just stared at him for a moment before becoming suddenly flustered, "I...I have a terrible headache, I'm so sorry, remembering Valerie today…I'm sorry" and quietly excusing herself, she fled.

…

Matthew opened the door to the library, and Mary looked up at him from her spot by the fire. Even in the dull light, he could see the tears puckering down her cheeks, still wet, as she quickly tried to wipe them away. He walked over to her and took her hand. "Don't cry," he gently touched her face, "we will remember her."

"Oh Matthew, it's not that. God knows it should be."

"Then what?"

"I…I can't bear the thought of you going tomorrow," she gave a little laugh as if to cover up her embarrassment at having said such a thing.

Matthew tried to make light of it, and replied, "What? Even if I'm just a middle-class lawyer?"

She smiled and retorted, "Upper middle-class."

The conversation abruptly ended and they just stood there, staring at each other in silence. The tension between them profound, and Matthew's heart began to beat faster. For a brief moment he hesitated, before he quickly pulled her to him, and his lips found hers with a tender passion. Her mouth slowly opened to him as she felt the softness of his lips and she finally whispered _"I love you."_ Matthew, sighing, returned her kisses with fervour as they slowly melted down onto the rug.

"I want to remember every part of you," he whispered, as his lips moved slowly from hers, to her ear and down to her neck, placing delicate kisses along her collarbone, "so that, when I am waiting…to go…over the top," he kept kissing her down her body, removing parts of her clothing as he went, "I can think of this," Mary let out a soft moan, "and know…" his voice began to crack, "how I _loved_ you once. " He sat back and looked at her naked body before him. _"My god, you're so beautiful." _He slowly bent forward to kiss the faint outline of the scars that had cut into her body on that roadside back in France. Mary took his head in her hands and guided him back up to her. His eyes glistening, a deep frown line etched across his face. She reached up and slowly kissed his forehead, then his nose, then, finding his lips she whispered against them, _"You will come back to me, Matthew?"_ as she desperately searched his face and with a look of such longing he captured her lips again, pulling back slightly, and with conviction he replied, _"I promise."_

She slowly undid the stiff military collar at his neck, pulling open the buttons on his shirt and gliding her delicate fingers in and over his chest. Next came his belt, and he simply watched her as she pulled out the leather from the buckle. He captured her lips again in a slow and quivering kiss as their bodies came together, and pausing briefly, both let out a sigh of relief. The fire, roaring next to them, warmed their skin as their momentum started to build, eliciting quiet moans as they moved, faster and faster until they both cascaded over the edge, into infinity.

…

_So there you have it. You wanted M, you got it. Was it as good for you as it was for me? Hahahaha. I've never written a 'scene' like that before (ha, can't even say the word…you know…sex…there I said it). *blush* This one took a bit longer to write so a day's delay (but still pretty fast really). And you get the benefit of getting a longer chapter!  
_


	13. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

Mathew returned to the front line the following day. He had snuck into Mary's room in the early morning and made love to her again, slowly, as if he could make every kiss and every movement inside of her last. They lay there for a long while, not saying anything, until the sun started streaming in through the window, and he knew that he must leave. _Oh how his heart wanted to stay_. But some invisible hand, brandishing a sword, was pulling him back to war.

He sat in the officer's carriage looking out across the French countryside. He smiled, remembering the feminine curve of her hips and the way his hand, like silk, felt when he moved it over them. She had walked with him as they unhurriedly edged their way, hand in hand, down the platform at Paddington Station, holding onto each other tightly, as if one might disappear without the others touch.

"_I feel as if I've been living in a dream, and now I must say goodbye to it," Matthew had looked at her so sadly, that she gave his hand a gentle squeeze._

"_I want to give you this," she smiled slightly, as she pushed a small stuffed dog into his hand, "It's my lucky charm. I've had it always… so you must promise to bring it back without a scratch."_

"_Don't you need it?"_

"_Not as much as you. So…" and trying to be brave, she had continued, "look after it please."_

"_Mary…if I don't come back…"_

"_No, I won't hear of it. You made a promise, remember?"_

"_Yes, but if I don't, will you do something for me? Will you…will you look after mother? If anything happens."_

"_Of course I will. But it won't." A tear had started to form in the corner of her eye, she blinked, and it tumbled down her cheek. Matthew gently cupped her head in his hand, and softly kissed where it had fallen._

"_I am so glad we…we were able to have this time together. You send me to war a happy man."_

"_Just come back safe and sound. That's all I ask."_

"_Be careful….when you go back. Don't take any risks. Tell that Findlay he'll have me to answer to otherwise," he had laughed, to try to make light of it. "I'll try and come and see you, but I'm not sure we'll have much leave now. Not with spring upon us."_

_The stationmaster made his final call as the whistle blew, and Matthew had stepped up onto the train, still clasping her hand, he kissed her as if it were his last, and slowly pulled away from the platform._

"PARIS! Gare du Nord!" a thick Yorkshire accent cut through the air as Matthew awoke from his slumber, "transfer 'ere for th'front boys. Jerry's awaitin.' God save the King!"

…

By the time Mary arrived back at St Quentin the hospital was packing up. She found Sybil in the storeroom quickly throwing supplies into crates, and she stopped in her work briefly to embrace her.

"What's going on? It's chaos out there."

"The Germans have started a spring offensive. With the Russians out of the war, they've shifted their divisions to the Western Front. Everyone's worried Mary, that the Americans won't get here in time."

"So we're giving up? We're moving?"

"To Saint Sauveaur, on the outskirts of Amiens. It's heavily fortified. If there's going to be a counter offensive, that's where it will happen so, I suppose, that's where we need to be, to tend to the wounded."

A flash of fear crossed Mary's face and Sybil read it clearly. "He'll be ok Mary."

"Whatever do you mean?" she affected ignorance to her sister, and she started helping to pack the boxes.

"Matthew, who else! Honestly Mary sometimes…"

Mary blushed, "Who told you?" she said incredulously.

Sybil laughed in disbelief, "Good God Mary, how could anyone not know!" as they both burst out in a fit of giggles.

…

The spring of 1918 had come as if in some terrible dream. Over a million soldiers from the British Army and her Dominions stood in defence of the Western Front. A thousand battalions, all occupying sectors of the line from the North Sea to the Orne River, stood their ground as wave upon wave of the German army advanced.

Matthew had managed to get a few days respite behind the lines, but when he went to St Quentin to see Mary, she was gone. Their letters were becoming more and more difficult to reach each other. Sometimes it would take weeks to get a single one, and others, he would receive three in one day.

…

_15th April 1918._

_Dearest Matthew._

_I hope this letter reaches you safely. I arrived in XXXXXXXXXX__ but we were immediately decamped__, to a small town outside of XXXXXX__.__ As promised, I am entirely risk free. Findlay has been given your fare warning, but he says, in jest of course, that if I don't listen to him it's not his fault so please don't hit him when you next come to visit. Sybil says hello, she's been busy since I left managing her own ward, so I am very proud of her promotion. I still cannot believe that is my baby sister, taking charge so!_

_The town is very quaint, and very busy, compared to __XXXXXXXXXXX__. We are in an actual hospital this time that has wards for civilians and wards for soldiers, mostly French, so I am picking up the language, albeit very poorly! Granny would be amused at my efforts if she were here. _

_I hope that you are happy, happy at least to be back with your regiment. Please send William our regards, and stay safe. I miss you, so very very much. I will try to write again soon._

_Love always,  
Mary_

…

_14__th__ May 1918_

_My Darling Mary,_

_I'm sorry I have not had the opportunity to write sooner. The enemy has been __attacking our line almost constantly since March__, but it finally feels like it is petering out. There is talk of XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX __but I am not sure where to as yet, I will try and let you know if and when that happens. _

_I know that you had left; I had some leave and came to see you but was disappointed. I received your letter, but it took four weeks to get to me! The censors have been at it again I'm afraid, so I couldn't read where you had gone but managed to find out from one of the chaps in the medical corps. I am glad to hear you are busy; it helps take the mind off things. I am so happy to hear of Sybil's promotion too, she makes a fine nurse and I am sure Robert would be equally as proud. I trust you have not gotten into too much trouble with him over your return to France? _

_I hope this letter finds you well and I hope to see you again so very soon. Give my best to Sybil. _

_With love, _

_Matthew._

...

_30th May 1918,_

_Darling Matthew,_

_I was so happy to receive your last letter, I was worried when I hadn't heard a peep, but then your mother wrote to me and ensured me of your safety. It sounds as though she is quite well, although still clashing with my mother, as you can imagine. Father hasn't forgiven me as of yet but I am confident he will come around. I wish I knew where you were but take comfort in the fact that you know where I am, at least. When I think about our brief time together back in London, it almost seems like a dream. Sometimes I wonder if I am to awake and discover I imagined it all! _

_We are seeing so many more causalities than usual. You told me not to take any risks, and I beg you to do the same. Don't be a hero. This war has made me realise how precious life is, and I promise to make the most of every day of our future together, when you get back. Stay safe._

_Love always,_

_Mary._

…

_19th June__ 1918,_

_Dearest Mary,_

_Oh my darling, sometimes I feel as if it were all a dream as well, but then I close my eyes and see your lovely face and I know that it was real. It keeps me going; thinking of our time together, and all the mud and rats and the stinking trenches disappear for a while. So thank you for that._

_Speaking of rats, the boys in the regiment have adopted one as a 'pet,' a particularly large and brazen pest who hangs around the stores, even during the day. They have named it after the Sergeants wife, which he does not find at all amusing but which provides some welcome relief. They have asked me the name of my sweetheart, but I have refused to tell them for fear of a 'Mary' suddenly appearing at breakfast. _

_It seems we are to be XXXXXXXXXXXXXX__, but I won't bother telling you where since they will only blot it out! I am however hoping that we will be given leave soon and that I might be able to see you finally. _

_All my love,_

_Matthew_

…

By the end of June, the threat of a German breakout had passed and the Duke of Manchester's Own was on the move, relieved from their trench by a regiment of Canadians, and sent to join the Fourth Army along the line from Amiens. The German army had spent most of the spring, and part of the summer, launching a series of frontal assaults. They knew that their only chance at victory was to defeat the allies before the overwhelming human and material resources of the United States could land. Their numbers swelled as 50 divisions, freed from the eastern front, poured into the German line. Attack after attack soon followed, but, running low on supplies and exhausted, they were unable advance fast enough to break through. The Kaiser's chance for a decisive victory was lost and they found themselves capturing pieces of countryside destroyed by years of war, guarded by few, and of little value. The British line had held steadfast, and the enemy had left half a million men dead on the battlefield.

To think it a sweet victory though, was foolhardy. The allies had lost almost as many men, and Mary and Sybil saw the consequences of it first-hand. Wounded soldiers, by the hundreds, arrived at the train station at Amiens every day, to be ferried on to other hospitals around France and Great Britain. The cemeteries scattered like markers across the Somme were filling up with the Commonwealth dead, row upon row of white crosses by the thousands, a constant reminder of the dreadful cost of this war.

Relief had come again to Matthew's regiment, as the American's began to arrive, and they were given two weeks leave. _What they could do with two weeks!_

The men, wary of war, tried not to get too excited about it. "Much as I am looking forward to going 'ome, and seeing the 'ol trouble and strife," a cockney from East London loudly proclaimed about the trench, "it means that wanker Haig plans a counter attack, don't he. And that means, we're as good as brown bread!"

…

_Brown bread: dead! Can you guess what he means by trouble and strife? Ha! Not generally a fan of letters in a story so let me know what you think anyway. Obviously where it's been XXX'd it's where the censors have blotted out place names, which happened all the time in WW1, but much worse, to an extent where some letters had pretty much everything crossed out. Coming up next chapter, Matthew gets his leave (to say goodbye?) and the British Army launch their biggest counter offensive yet!_


	14. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

Mary, Sybil and Findlay sat around a table in the doctor's lounge playing cards. When Finn had first suggested over a month ago they have a weekly match after Sybil announced her love for cribbage, the other doctors hadn't seemed to mind too much, half of them were themselves rather taken with the two daughters of the Earl.

"You're cheating!" Sybil had exclaimed loudly as Mary put another card in the pile.

"Oh really Sybil! You say that every time I take my turn! It's not cheating, I'm simply better at it than you," which of course then causes her sister to retort, "well, I suppose you have to be good at something, God knows you can't drive," and Mary would reply, to Findlay, rolling her eyes in the usual way, "she's just jealous because I always win." And so it would go on like that, back and forth, for most of the evening.

Findlay MacDonald had to laugh to himself, it was the same every week but he rather enjoyed it. It reminded him of his own two sisters back in Edinburgh, and it was a welcome relief from the hundreds of mangled men's bodies and torn limbs he faced on a daily basis. The lounge was quiet tonight, and they were the only three people in there, getting louder and louder. They had a rare night off, and Finn had opened a bottle of single malt whiskey of which already Sybil had had one glass too many.

Suddenly Mary won the game, and jumping out of her seat she laughed whole-heartedly exclaiming, "I win, again! Really Sybil, you might as well give it up, you'll never beat me!" when a voice interrupted.

"Beat you at what?"

Matthew Crawley was standing in the doorframe, his eyes achingly fixed on her. Mary was stunned, and stayed rooted to her spot for fear that blinking might make him disappear, an awkward pause between them filling the room.

Findlay coughed, "I get the feeling we're in the way Sybil dear," he whispered with a chuckle, and it momentarily snapped both of them out of it.

"Hello," Matthew finally said, his eyes still locked on her.

"Oh for God sake." Sybil murmured under her breath and turning to Findlay remarked, "Doctor MacDonald, I believe there's that patient I told you about, you know the one with the bad leg?"

"Bad leg? No, I don't…" his brow furrowed as he had started to question but immediately felt a sharp kick under the table and he gave her a strange look, "Ahhhh, yes,_ the leg. _A very bad… bad, leg. I should…we should…go and see him. Straight away." They both rose and walked out of the room, bursting out in fits of laughter as they made their way back up the hall.

"You're here," Mary had finally whispered as Matthew crossed the four metres that stood between them in two bold strides, his lips landing on hers with a sigh as he enclosed his arms around her.

…

Sybil and Finn MacDonald had managed to esconder the bottle of whiskey as they left and sequestered themselves up in front of the fire in the stables, where the French stable hands, one or two hospital staff and a few locals had gathered in an impromptu party. They had no idea what most of them were talking about on account of the fact that neither of them spoke French. But, the bottle was passed between them and a young groom had pulled out an accordion and softly started playing the Sous le ciel de Paris.

The expanse of the room smelled like hay and Finn was leaning on the thick oak mantle warming his legs. Sybil sat on a small stool by the fire.

"I feel as if we hardly know each other," Sybil had spoken, "where in Scotland are you actually from?"

"Well, I was born on a estate not far from Perth, at a place called Loch Laidon. My father was a games keeper for the local Lord. I have two sisters, and they remind me of you and Mary, always bickering, but there for each other nonetheless." He chuckled.

Sybil was shocked, "Mary and I don't bicker!"

"Och, you dinnae bicker!" he laughed mockingly, "Have you e'ver played cards?" and he burst out laughing so hard that Sybil looked down, embarrassed. "Oh I wouldnae worry, it's all in good fun." His Scottish accent seemed to be getting stronger and stronger and Sybil started to laugh uncontrollably.

"What's so funny?"

"You! The well educated doctor becomes a coarse Scottish Highlander the more he drinks…"

"Well…" he said, looking at her rather seriously, "I am a Scottish highlander…" at that the moment the accordion player was joined by a fiddle-player and the tempo became suddenly upbeat. The stable-hands grabbed their sweet hearts and started to spin. Findlay Macdonald rose, and held his hand out for Lady Sybil Crawley to join him.

…

Matthew grabbed Mary's hand and pulled her into the hall. "Where are we going?" Matthew, in his haste simply replied, "Anywhere…"

"Have you lost your mind…?" but before he answered he quickly pushed her up against the wall into another passionate kiss.

"Well…" Mary had replied breathless, "you have lost your mind," as she sheepishly smiled at him. He visibly relaxed against her and sighed. "I'm just…so happy to see you."

"Oh really?" Mary enquired with a grin, "how happy exactly?"

"Shall I show you?" they burst out laughing and Matthew grabbed her hand again and pulled her out into the cool summer night.

Matthew ran across the courtyard and out into the orchard that sat to the right of the main building, dragging Mary in his wake. "Where are we going?" she protested again, but he simply looked back at her and grinned, his white teeth glowing in the moonlight, his eyes all a-mischief.

"You'll see."

They ran like that, sort of half running, half-walking as Mary tried to keep up. After another few minutes she was about to protest again when suddenly a small cottage appeared before them and Matthew swept her up into his arms, and with Mary giggling, he bounded up the steps.

Inside the fire was going and the dull light from it emanated around the room, casting flickering shadows into the corners. There was a table and two chairs at one end and a bed at the other. Mary raised her eyebrows at him as he gently laid her down on it.

"Oh,_ I_ see…"

He beamed at her triumphantly, and leaning down, captured her lips with such intense desire that they burned. Mary responded with the same urgency and made quick work of his tunic, practically ripping the leather brace from across his chest as she slid it over his shoulder, all the while his lips, _oh his lips_, raked over hers. He flipped off his shoes and grabbed her silk blouse, his fingers shaking as he delicately tried to undo each of the buttons, Mary sighing in frustration until he simply tore at the fabric, exposing each of her breasts and his mouth came down onto them, her head arching involuntarily into the pillows as she let out a quiet moan. Pulling back, he knelt between her, his hands on the outside of her thighs hastily sliding up her skirt until it was bunched over her hips. He stopped suddenly and just stared at her. His breath coming out in ragged gasps, _oh how he needed her. _Mary reached for his belt and quickly undid the clasp, pulling his trousers open and he inhaled sharply as her hand closed around him. _"Oh God Mary,"_ he could barely recognise his own voice and his mouth came down onto hers again, as she opened herself to him.

They both let out a loud groan of release as he finally entered her, pausing briefly, his arms quivering at the intensity of sensation coursing through him, crying out as he drove himself deeper, her own hips moving up to meet his. "I don't think I can last," he gasped, burying his head in the crook of her neck, Mary already so tight around him, sending him over the edge. With only a handful more thrusts they came so quickly it surprised them both, clinging to the other, skin glistening, and Matthew's trousers still around his knees as he struggled to get his breath back.

He relaxed against her, and finally he sobbed, "I'm sorry Mary."

"Oh my darling," Mary worked her fingers through his hair, soothing him; "you have nothing to be sorry for."

"I wanted it to be perfect, but I just, I needed you _so_ much."

"It was perfect Matthew, I love you…you are perfect to me." Looking down at her, he softly kissed her lips again before slowly easing his way out. They removed the rest of their clothing and climbed under the covers. Matthew placing delicate kisses up her arm to her shoulder. "I didn't think I would ever have you again, like this," he breathed.

"How did you organise it, the cottage I mean."

"Sybil…Sybil helped me."

"Sybil? So she knows, she knows that we…"

"Well, she can guess I suppose. She's discreet. She understands."

He kissed her again and laid his head gently on her stomach, her hand playing automatically with a curl of golden hair on his forehead, and quietly they fell asleep.

…

When Matthew awoke, Mary was hastily getting dressed by the bed and he looked up at her curiously.

"I have a shift in 15 minutes, I'm _so_ sorry," she leaned over him and kissed him, pulling back reluctantly, before taking his lips again. Groaning, she finally pulled back, "I wish I could just stay here."

"So stay…" he grabbed her hand and pulled her down onto the bed, rolling her over so she was underneath him, trapped, and he started kissing her neck, up to her ear.

Almost succumbing, she lightly slapped his naked shoulder, "Matthew! I can't, I'm needed, I'm sorry darling," and hanging his head with a sigh, he slowly rolled off of her, staring back at her with exhalation. "I wish we could just stay here forever and forget about this damn war."

"Will you still be here, when I get back?" she asked imploringly.

"I'm not going anywhere…I have two weeks. I suppose I should have to go to Downton to see Mother, and everyone else of course. Do you think you could get leave? Come with me?"

"I'll certainly try. I don't see why not, besides, I think Findlay fancies my sister so I could always use that as bribe," she laughed, pecking him on the cheek. And taking one final look at him, his lean body reclining back on the pillows, she left.

…

Sybil had a headache when Mary virtually skipped into the hospital, and loudly pronounced, "Hello Sybil dear, how was your evening last night?"

She visibly grimaced, snapping, "try not be quite so cheery Mary, I have a headache. I take it you and Matthew had a nice night?" she raised her eyebrows speculatively and Mary whispered ever so quietly, "thank you."

"What are we thankful for?" Findlay's voice practically boomed as he entered the ward, clearly unaffected by last night's whiskey.

"God," Sybil proclaimed, "will everyone please stop shouting!"

"Sybil it seems had to much to drink last night Finn. You wouldn't have anything to do with that would you?" Mary asked.

"I wouldnae do that! Besides which, no one can tell Lady Sybil what to do, as you well know," and they both laughed.

"Well, I'm glad I caught you in a good mood, because I need a favour..."

"Oh? Well, tell me how I might be of service," he said, while glancing over a handful of medical charts.

"I need you to see if you can get me some leave. Two weeks in fact. I know it's a lot to ask, but Matthew is going back to Downton and I want to go with him, if it's not too much trouble of course…"

"Of course it isn't. I'll sweet talk the old Matron for you and see what I can do. But, what do I get in return?" he cheekily asked.

"Why, you get Sybil of course." His mouth fell open, and Sybil, blushing, interrupted in horror, "Oh Mary really, I am not some kind of a slave you can pass around your friends!"

"Oh hush, I didn't mean it like that," and turning back to Findlay, she continued, "All I meant is that Sybil promises to keep you entertained while I'm gone. Do we have a deal?"

Sybil looked on, mortified, as Mary and Findlay shook hands on it, completely ignoring her.

"I know what you're both doing. You're trying to get a rise out of me, and it won't work." She said in a huff, as she went back to her duties.

…

Two days later Mary had gotten her leave and she and Matthew arrived back in London. Suddenly they were brought back to the reality of their situation as they sat on the train to Downton.

"I'm not sure I can go two whole weeks without kissing you."

Mary looked at him amusingly. "Well, you can try, but I my father might have something to say about it."

"Would he? I think he might be rather pleased that we sorted it out," his voice, full of amusement.

Mary scoffed. "Not if he finds out you've been sharing my bed he won't."

"So, it's settled then. I can look, but I can't touch," he gazed at her forlornly. "I'm not sure spending two weeks at Downton was such a good idea."

"Oh Matthew really, we can't go two weeks? Besides, your mother will be missing you greatly, it wouldn't be fair to be so selfish."

"I suppose you're right," he sulked, "but I don't have to like it."

"You're such a child," and they both burst out laughing as the train pulled into the station.

…

Matthew's mother was waiting on the platform when the train arrived and was surprised to see Matthew and Mary get off together. They hadn't concocted a story about how they happened to be coming at the same time, and in his fluster Matthew told her they ran into each other on the platform in London. She looked at him dubiously, but said nothing.

"Well, I suppose we should give you a lift to the house Mary, does your father know you're back?"

"Not yet I'm afraid, the leave was rather last minute and I didn't have a chance to write."

'Well, I am sure he'll be so pleased to see you."

"Oh I hope so. I didn't exactly leave in pleasant circumstances."

"Do you want me to come with you?" Matthew asked quickly.

Mary blushed, and looking at her gloved hands, meet his eyes imploring her, "If you like. I'm sure papa would be happy to see you."

Isobel looked at this curious exchange between her son and Mary and wondered what exactly had happened on that train journey from London. _Ran into each other indeed_, she thought.

…

_More gratuitous sex. Oh dear, I hardly recognise myself, phew *wipes brow*. Two weeks in Downton how will they cope? Will they be found out…and what about Sybil and Finn! I had a few of you request they should get together so taking it out for a spin to see where it goes, feedback appreicated. Thanks for all your great reviews by the way, I love it!_


	15. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

The car pulled up to the house and Carson the Butler came out to meet them, and with a very pleased smile simply said, "Lady Mary, welcome home."

"How are you Carson?"

"Very well milady, we were not expecting you. Captain Crawley, I trust that you are well?" his bushy eyebrows edging up.

"Hello Carson," and as innocently as possible he quickly replied, "I found Mary at the station…thought we should give her a lift. Is Lord Grantham at home?"

"Follow me sir" as he turned on his heel, "Mr Bates, please see to Lady Mary's things."

The Earl was at his desk in the library writing letters, when Carson announced their arrival.

"My Lord," the droll voice of the Butler interrupted him and he sat around in his chair, "Captain Crawley, Mrs Crawley, and Lady Mary."

He rose from his seat, his eyes shooting up in surprise at the announcement of the last name that he immediately said it back to her, "Mary!" before grabbing hold of Matthews hand, "Matthew! I'm so relieved to see you in one piece." He stood back and surveyed them, "both of you."

"We…we ran into each other at the station in London, so we came up together," Matthew had faltered, as Robert went to fix him a drink, and his mother quietly whispered, "You keep saying that Matthew as if you're hoping it to be true." He gave his mother an astonished look, and she cheerily remarked, "you might not pretend to be so stunned, it's written all over your faces." Mary blushed.

"What's written on their face?" Robert asked, looking between the two of them and handing Matthew a glass of brandy.

Mary swallowed, and stepped forward, kissing her father on the cheek. "Just how happy we are to see you Papa."

"Well, I'm not very happy with you Mary, but we'll discuss that later." He remarked seriously, "But I am so happy to see you both again being cross can wait."

…

Dinner had proved to be a jolly occasion and Robert had kept his word. He was just so pleased to have everyone together again; the only part that was missing was Sybil. Mary kept stealing glances at Matthew, and Matthew kept pretending not to notice, all the while Robert grilled him about news from the front, the watered down version of course on account of the ladies present. By the time they retired to the drawing room, both of them were exhausted. In a rare moment alone together Matthew had whispered, "I just want to curl up under the blankets with you beside me." She had at first smiled at the thought, but when she noticed Edith looking at them she told him to shush, and he changed the subject to some other mundane conversation before being interrupted again by Robert.

"You and Matthew seem to be getting on so well," Edith had ventured over.

"Why wouldn't we?" Mary had asked surprised.

"Well, after he slipped the hook last time I'm surprised he'd even want to talk to you."

"Matthew and I are friends, we are at least mature enough for that." She was so tired of it that she continued, "Can't we just be civil Edith? I've just got back from a place you wouldn't even imagine in your nightmares. These trivial games we play are ridiculous against the backdrop of war."

Edith was quite put out, that she suddenly replied, "What have you done with Mary and when are you brining her back?"

"Oh really Edith. We're adults now, it's time to grow up."

"My God Mary, you _have_ changed. Perhaps Cousin Matthew has had a positive influence on you after all. Did you see him at all, in France?"

"No, why should I?"

"Because…things seem, different between the two of you. Like, something's happened."

"Oh really Edith, war, war has happened," and rolling her eyes she went over to join Granny who was at that moment questioning Matthew about the front.

"And how is William working out? I hope you're taking good care of him?" She ventured.

"He's doing fine, in fact he's taking care of me."

"And Mary," here she is, she said, turning to her granddaughter, "Did you manage to see anything of each other while over there?'

Both of them looked at each other, suddenly alarmed, before Matthew simply replied, "not much, no."

Edith meanwhile caught all of this exchange with a curious glance, that later, when Matthew was finally getting ready to leave, his mother having already departed, she ventured out into the great hall before suddenly stopping in the shadows. She had caught another exchange between them, different this time, his hand holding onto hers as he placed a delicate kiss on her lips. They thought they were alone but she heard him say, _I wish I could come to you tonight._ And Edith, with a malicious smile, had understood exactly what he had meant.

…

The next morning Mary lay under the covers not wanting to get up. She wished so much that she could wake up next to Matthew who was, at that moment, at Crawley House having breakfast with his mother. He had gotten up early with the intention of walking to the Abbey. He was halfway through cracking his egg when suddenly she turned to him and said, "Mary is still in love with you." He looked up from his newspaper, surprised.

"What?"

"Mary. She still loves you, you know."

Matthew sighed, his mother looking at him expectantly. "It's the way she looks at you. The flame hasn't quite gone out, I can tell,"

"Can you?" Matthew sighed again at the ridiculousness of the conversation, and without looking up said quite plainly, "I know."

"You know? How do you know?" Her voice, going up another octave.

"Because she told me Mother."

"Mary told you that she loved you?"

"Yes." He continued to glance down at the headlines as if it were an off-the-cuff remark about medical procedures or industrial law.

"And…?"

"And what?"

"And what are you going to do about it?" the tone of her voice was questioning him incredulously as if she couldn't understand how he could be so calm about it.

"I told her I love her, too."

Isobel was so stunned, that she, with a cup of tea halfway to her lips, paused in disbelief.

"We were hoping to keep it quiet while we were here," he said matter-of-factly, "and I have…intentions, which you seem quite likely to ruin if you keep this up."

She simply smiled, the excitement reaching her eyes, as she took another bite of her toast, pretending as if the conversation had never happened.

…

Breakfast back at the Abbey was an entirely different affair to that at Crawley House. Instead of the calm of the days news, Lord Grantham was getting more and more ill-tempered as he read out a story on page three of The Times. "Red Cross nurses caught in crossfire," as he flipped the paper down and looked at Mary. She took an inward breath, stealing herself from what was to come. "Three Red Cross nurses from Canada were killed on Sunday after the convoy they were travelling in was shelled by enemy fire." Again, he looked at Mary.

"Papa…"

"No." he stopped her, calmly "I understand Mary, you want to do your duty. But…the fact that you openly disobeyed me and went anyway, running away like that, that I cannot accept."

"I'd be more concerned about what she's been getting up to with Matthew," Edith had spitefully added, Mary's mouth dropped open, her face a look of horror.

Robert looked up, surprised. "What?"

Edith suddenly looked like she had doubts, when Cora intervened, frowning.

"Edith, if you know something I suggest you spit it out."

"I saw them, last night…in the hall." Mary was frozen to her seat, her eyes getting wider as her sister continued, "Matthew said, something to Mary that suggested that they had been…well, together before,_ intimately_," she had whispered the last word before she could stop herself.

'Edith!" but Mary couldn't get in another word as her father slammed his fist down on the table.

"Robert please…" her mother had tried to intervene but it was too late, he had passed the point of no return.

With his eyes locked on Mary he had simply said, "Leave us," as Cora and Edith quickly exited the room.

"Is this true?"

"Papa, surely you're not going to believe anything that Edith tells you really, we were just saying goodbye."

"I can't deny it Mary, I noticed something different between the two of you. If you won't tell me the truth then I will be asking Matthew so I suggest you come out with it."

Mary knew Matthew would not lie to her father, so she quietly whispered, "It's true."

The Earls face fell. "Get out."

"Papa…let me explain"

His voice rising with every breath, he continued, "Good God Mary, there is no explanation! How could you? How could…Matthew! You bring shame on this house, both of you, now get out!"

Mary, with tears falling down her face, quickly left. Carson was waiting as she hurriedly walked out, "My lady, is there anything I can do?"

"No Carson, there isn't. But, I think I need to telephone Matthew."

"Don't bother! " Her father had at that moment stormed out of the breakfast room, "Carson, I need the car. I need to get to Crawley house"

"Papa…" she had pleaded, but he had rushed out the door without giving her a glance back, leaving Mary in his wake.

"How could you?" her mama had given her a pitiful look, but Mary had simply walked away.

"Where are you going?"

"Away from here!" she had shrieked, as she made her way to the stables.

…

On the way to Crawley House Robert had been getting more and more agitated. _That little cad. _ The nights he had spent at Downton, being the gentleman, _some gentleman,_ all the while seducing his daughter. By the time he had pulled up to the house he was positively fuming. Mosely showed him into the drawing room.

"Good God Robert, whatever is the matter?" Isobel had ventured as her cousin had paced up and down the room.

"Did you know?" he asked pointedly.

"Know what?" her eyebrows edging up in surprise.

"That your son has been…" he could hardly get the words out, that when he did, he whispered it, _"sleeping with my daughter."_

Isobel looked shocked. "I'm sure it's not as bad as all that."

"Well it is!" he had shouted, "Mary confirmed it this morning after I confronted her. Where is he?"

"He's gone to Downton, to see…to see Mary, I can't believe it." She had looked at her hands, embarrassed.

"Well, I believe it. That rascal. He probably thinks consequences don't matter, that if he dies over there in the trenches, so what? So what! He can have his fun with her and be gone!"

"Now just a minute, " Isobel had shouted back, defending her son. She was standing now; pacing almost just the same has the Earl. "They are in love! He told me so this morning, he was going to propose, and you can't blame them for wanting to make the most of every day."

"That doesn't make it right!" he had shouted back, but then visibly conceded "I need a drink, have you got any sherry?"

"It's nine in the morning," she had said skeptically, before ringing the bell for Moseley.

…

Matthew had arrived at Downton Abbey and the house was in discontent. He had no sooner taken off his hat before Carson took him quietly by the elbow and led him out the front door again.

"What is it Carson? What's wrong?"

"I do apologise Captain Crawley for seeming to be so discreet, but it seems…." He wasn't sure how to word it, before simply coming out with it. "It seems that Lord Grantham has it in his head that you…" he cleared his throat nervously before continuing, "that you and Lady Mary have been…_consorting,_" His voice edging up slightly on the last word. "He has gone to Crawley House sir."

"Where is Lady Mary?" Matthew asked, suddenly panicked.

"She left sir, she was, as you can imagine, quite distraught. She has gone in the direction of the stables."

…

Mary had ridden out on Diamond in a blustering anger and spurred the horse on across the field as if driven by fire. Tears were still puckering down her cheeks, but she ignored them and rode on, tightly gripping the reigns, holding the head of the horse to guide him on galloping faster and faster, the rain now falling washing away her tears as she lifted her face to the dark morning sky. She rode like that for some time, before the horse, frothing and agitated, halted by the Abbey stream. She shouted at the rain before leaning forward to comfort him. "Why can't they understand," she had said to no one. The horse's legs were splayed in mud and her mind drifted back to the horrors of France. She knew, then, that she had nothing to be ashamed of.

By the time she had rode back into the stables, she was covered head to toe in dirt and felt totally and utterly exhausted, as was her horse. Lynch had come out of the stables, a look of horror on his face at the state of the pair of them, but said nothing as she dismounted. Looking up, she saw Matthew, a pained look on his face.

"I take it then, you've heard?" Her voice quivering.

"How did…?"

'Edith. She saw, she heard…last night."

Matthews face fell. "So it's all my fault, oh my darling I'm so sorry," as he gently put his arms around her.

"We have nothing to be sorry for Matthew. I won't apologise for it."

He gave her a quiet smile and silently led her into the tack room as she removed her riding hat and gloves, sitting down on a small stool by the fire. Matthew knelt before her, her riding breeches wet from the days rain. She leaned back drained and simply let him undo and pull her at her boots, sliding them off her slender calves, as he soothingly massaged her foot.

"Oh Matthew, I don't think that is such a good idea," she looked down at him with an expression of such longing, that he placed a tender kiss on her naked ankle.

"That's not why I came. I came to Downton this morning Mary too…."he lost his words, then continued, "To see you, but Carson told me what had happened."

"Oh God Papa is furious, he wont see reason Matthew, he has pretty much disowned me!" Matthew stopped her speech and leaned forward with a kiss.

"That's not why I came here today," he had whispered. She looked at him, hesitantly kneeling before her…

"Matthew…if you're going to do what I think you are then the answer is no. I will not, I won't, not on account of some sense of duty. I don't regret it you know, and if we were back at the beginning, back in London, I would do it again. But I won't have you feel you have to excuse it or makes amends to it out of obligation."

"Obligation? _I love you Mary_, and if you can sit there and say whole heartedly that you don't love me then I will walk out that door and never look back," he had said, his eyes glistening. "I would walk out a broken man, but if that is what you wanted, then I would go." He sat back, and stared up at her.

"Oh Matthew…of course I love you!"

He smiled at her, relieved, and slowly pulled a small red velvet box from his pocket. "I got it in Paris, when we stopped for a few hours, while you were asleep on the train. I always..." his voice began to break, "I always thought I wouldn't, you know. That I couldn't, I couldn't tie you to me, not when the chances of my coming through this war are so slim. I couldn't bind you…to a corpse." She made to interrupt him but he stopped her with the shake of his head. "But then I also think, you make me happy. You make me want to make it through. I want to do right by you, not out of obligation or because we have been found out, but because I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. However long that might be." He slowly lifted the lid on the box to reveal a beautiful petite diamond and sapphire ring, "Lady Mary Crawley, would you do me the great honour of becoming my wife?"

"Yes," she had said it back to him without even a pause and pulling her to her feet, they kissed, his arms coming around her waist as he twirled her around the room, their happy laughter filling the space between them. He placed her back on the ground and captured her lips again. She sighed against his mouth and whispered, "I suppose we shall have to go back and face the wrath of Papa."

"I could face anything," he replied, "with you by my side," he smiled nervously at her, and they made their way together back to the house.

…

By the time Mary had gotten changed and her and Matthew had walked, hand in hand, into the library, Robert had resumed his former composure. Granny was there too, sitting on the settee, a look of concern spreading over her features as she tried to keep her son's wrath in check.

Before Mary or Matthew could say anything, he had immediately interjected. "This is what is going to happen. Matthew, you are going to get engaged to my daughter. Mary, you are going to stay here at Downton at the end of your leave, while Matthew goes back to the front. And, God willing, he makes it through this war, then you shall be married."

They had both said nothing while he calmly laid out his plan, before Mary suddenly exclaimed, "I am going back to France."

"You certainly are not!" Robert had shouted, "You cannot be trusted. And you!" as the Earl rounded on Matthew, "how dare you, take advantage of my daughter!"

"No one took advantage of anyone Papa,"

"Mary…" Matthew had made to interrupt her when she continued; "I don't regret it for one moment. You weren't there Papa, you couldn't possibly understand…"

"Oh I understand perfectly! You think because there is a war on that you can behave so abominably, like a common harlot?"

"Now just a minute!" Matthew had shouted back, "I won't stand for it Robert. I respect you as the Earl and as Mary's father but I won't have you speak to her in such a way. We made a mistake, I have apologised for it, but you can't punish her. It was me. I should have been more…gentleman-like. I allowed my emotions to get the better of me. _I love her_. I've always loved her…we will be married. It will be of no consequence. No one need know."

"Of no consequence!" Robert had started to shout when the calm voice of the Dowager Countess had quietly laid a hand on his arm, "let's not say anything we might regret."

"I know," the Earl had responded, dejectedly. "Which is why, Mary, you are staying here. That is non-negotiable."

"We're engaged Papa, it's what you wanted all along, what does it matter now whether I am here, or over there? Can't you just be happy for us?"

"It's alright darling…" Matthew had interjected, as he gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "We will do as your father asks, at this point it's only right."

"Only right? Matthew, I am going back…" but before she could continue he had pulled her to him, his lips coming ever so close to her ear, he whispered, "no, you will stay here, please darling," he had practically begged, his voice pleading, "you will stay here so that I can come back to you." He stood back and looked at her achingly. "So I can do my duty, knowing my fiancé is safe and waiting for me in England." She smiled at his words, her hand reaching up to gently cup his cheek. "Your fiancé?" She smiled, and he nodded.

"Well, then," Granny said, "it's settled."

Robert physically weakened as he sat down slowly in his chair. "The world was in a dream before the war, but now its woken up and said goodbye to it. And so must we."

…

Matthew had gone back to the front as was planned, and Mary stayed at Downton. The two weeks had flown by, and during that time they had not let her and Matthew out of their sight, as an awkwardness settled in. They didn't care; they carried on as best they could. Her father would scowl at Matthew if he took her hand, or would delicately cough in their direction if Mary simply touched his arm. In the end she had exclaimed, "really Papa, we _are _engaged," and he had stormed out without saying a word. After one particular evening where Matthew, having gently placed a kiss to her temple after she had received an upsetting letter, Granny had remarked about how loving and tender they were with each other. Slowly, her father had come around. By the time Matthew was departing, he had finally shaken his hand. "Come back," he had said. "Come back, or you will break my daughter's heart." He had agreed that he would.

…

_Apologies for the delay, had family staying with me this weekend so couldn't get this chapter finished in a day. It's my longest one yet though, as consolation. Coming up next chapter, Matthew's back at the front. Please review, would love to know what you think._


	16. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen.

By August, the heat of the summer was finally starting to quell, and the coolness of it was washing over Matthew's regiment, hunkering down in the line near Amiens. They were being readied for one final offensive. A 'raid' they had called it, so as not to alert the enemy. It was the calm before the storm, and he was in his bunker reading letters from Mary, her photograph turning over slowly in his hand.

"You must miss her Sir?" William asked, as he handed him a cup of tea.

"Condensed milk?" Matthew had enquired, as he took a swig, "You never cease to amaze me Private." He placed her picture back on his tin shelf. "Yes, I do. It's the thought of her that makes me want to get out of this wretched place."

"That's how I feel about Daisy, sir. I asked her to marry me when we were last at Downton."

"Really? I take it she said yes?"

William smiled, "Oh yes sir!"

"Well, she'd be mad not too. It seems we both had the same luck," he smiled, "If there is one thing that makes sense in all of this, it's love. A mad Scottish highlander told me that," he chuckled.

'Sound like he knows what he's talking about sir." William went back to his duties, and Matthew wrote his last letter to Mary.

…

_1 August 1918,_

_My darling,_

_I hope this letter finds you well and you are happy to be at home at Downton. Soon, is the start of something big; I can't say what exactly except that this may be my last opportunity to write to you for a while. _

_Mary, the last time we were together was the happiest time of my life, despite the often ill temper of your father, who can do little to quell my affection. I think often of our moments together, they are the only bright spot in an otherwise dreary day of mud and death. I will try my best to come home to you, but if I don't I want you to know that I go out of this world a happy man. Happy in the knowledge that I was able to earn your love and you, mine. I wish that we could grow old together, have children, and all the things that young couples in love should have, and it is that thought that keeps my heart beating, fighting, and living…for you. To see you again, your bright eyes, your tender hands, the softness of your skin and the way your hair falls gently across your face when you are sleeping. These are the things that I see and feel when I at last close my eyes._

_Do not mourn for me. Remember me as I was, and know that even for the briefest of moments you made the burden of war so light that I could almost fly. Try to be happy, it relieves my heart at the thought of you so, and helps me stay brave in the face of the oncoming battle._

_With all my love; to the last._

_Matthew x_

…

The Battle of Amiens began on the 8th of August and, covered by a blanket of thick fog, the allied troops quietly moved towards the enemy. It was 4.20am.

In a way Matthew was glad of it, as it meant the end of months-upon-months of a rat-invested, mud-filled, hell-on-earth, and its name was the bloody trench. Finally, they were on the move. There had been no pre battle bombardment to give them away, and reinforcements had been quietly brought into their line with strict instructions: keep your mouths shut! There were no whistles this time as he stood, his foot on the bottom rung of the ladder, looking at his watch. The men stood just as silently, praying, as if they were in church. William, next to him, raised his hand silently and lowered it. Slowly, by stealth, they made their way across the breach. No shots were fire from the enemy. They didn't even know they were there. No one dared speak, for fear of breaking the spell as the soldiers of the King marched forward, shoulder to shoulder. The drone of the aeroplanes overhead drowning out the noise from the tanks, as the artillery finally opened fire, pounding into the German line.

A little later the mist suddenly cleared, and for a moment all eyes on the battlefield took in the astonishing scene. Infantry in lines of hundreds of little section-columns all moving forward, with tanks, guns, battery after battery, the teams tossing their manes.* The German army opened fire, their machine guns cutting them down, destroying many of the tanks, but they bravely kept advancing.

South of the river, the Australian and New Zealand troops were the first to overrun the German guns. The French and Canadian attack had gone just as well, as 25 kilometers of the German front was swept away in a victory that far surpassed any other they had ever achieved.

Matthews regiment was holding the line with the rest of the fourth army to the north of river, and they progressed quickly, overrunning the advance trenches and reaching their first objective. But they had it tougher than the ANZACs, with only a single tank battalion in support. With rougher terrain to follow, they soon found themselves pinned down at the base of a steep wooded ridge known as Chipilly Spur.

…

Mary received Matthew's letter that afternoon and she had sat on her bed, rereading it over and over.

"Are you alright milady?" Anna had gently chimed in, as she came in to help her change for dinner.

"No," she had looked up at her in horror. "I'm not Anna, _oh god_…I received…I got, a letter, from Matthew. He, he speaks as though it were his last." Tears were falling down her cheeks now, as Anna quietly comforted her.

'I'm sure it's not. He'll make it through." Mary barely registered her words when she dashed up, grabbing a case from under the bed. "Will you do something for me Anna? Will you pack some things, practical things, my uniform, my boots…?"

"Of course, but do you think that's wise? You're father?" she looked at her expectantly. "Perhaps it would be better to wait here."

"I won't. I stayed only because Matthew asked me too, but now, he can't send me such a letter and expect me to wait to hear the news. I'm going back. I won't ask you to lie, if they ask, but I hope you will keep it quiet until they do?"

"Of course milady," Anna had replied sympathically. "But what about when you don't come down for dinner?"

"Please tell them I am unwell, and needed to lie down. Then, ask Branson to meet me at the gate, to take me to the station," she grabbed Anna by the hand, imploring her, "thank you. I know it's a lot to ask but I beg you to be discreet, at least until I am away."

…

When Mary arrived at Amiens a day later, the town was in complete disarray. In the background the loud boom of the guns could be constantly heard as wounded upon wounded poured in. At the hospital, Sybil was rushing from one bed to the next, reading their tags, and moving on. Giving instructions to this person, and to that. Directing this man to surgery on the one hand, and in a different breath pulling the sheet up on another, dead. Mary watched it all, as if numbed by horror, slowly looking at all the faces.

"Mary! What are you doing here?" Sybil had yelled over the din, rushing to her side she embraced her.

"I heard, Matthew sent me a letter indicating, anyway it doesn't matter. I came to see what I could do. You haven't seen him have you?"

"Matthew? No. He will be with his regiment Mary. The fourth has been advancing for the last day, from what I've heard. And successfully too. He'll be ok." She gave her an encouraging squeeze. "But we could definitely use you right now! We have so many wounded; we need them transported to the station and out as the new influx come in. Wait here, I'll find Finn."

When Doctor Findlay MacDonald came out of surgery his white coat was splattered in red and a look of surprise etched over his face as his eyes landed on Mary. "Couldnae stay away eh? Well, I'm not surprised…it is like being in Tahiti." The mirth of his comment however, didn't reach his eyes, as he washed his hands in a nearby basin.

"Give me something to do." Mary had said pointedly, that he looked at her knowingly. "Ahhh, I see…" he grabbed a towel and started to dry his hands, "the drivers need relief, they've been at it 24 hours. If you can take over from one of them, I am sure they'd appreciate some sleep."

Ten minutes later Mary was on the road, heading towards a field dressing station to pick up the wounded. The noise was deafening the closer she came, the boom boom boom of the guns were roaring overhead, and the whine of the aircraft engines, soaring. Her hands were shaking, as she determinedly drove on into the haze of smoke and gunpowder.

…

_*Direct quote about the battle of Amiens, Charles Bean, __Anzac to Amiens,__ Canberra, 1948, p.471_


	17. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen.

By the time the Duke of Manchester's Own had made it past the German reserve trenches the enemy was in full retreat. It was slow going, the ground rough from artillery craters, dips and hollows making it difficult for the tanks to labour through, rising and falling and rising again as they excruciatingly made their way forward, the noise from their mechanical tracks squeaking and crashing over every bump. The men too, behind the heavy armour, splashed their way over the squelching mud and materials the Germans had left behind. The undulating hills that surrounded them limited their line of fire and slowly their advance came to an agonising halt. The New Zealanders, to their south, had already taken three miles and the French, next to them, had taken four. The fourth army, over jagged terrain, was falling behind, at risk of the enemy regrouping and launching a counter attack.

Matthew and his men soon found themselves trapped between the river Somme and a steep wooded ridge that rose above them, majestic like, as they took cover behind an array of timber previously felled to use as supports in the German trenches. The ridge rose up above them in a steep incline pockmarked with broken pine and fallen branches, reaching a peak before falling away again to flat terrain. They had their orders. Keep advancing at any cost.

…

Mary came across the field dressing station as if in some grey sea, the smoke from the artillery guns behind drifting over the wounded men lying, catatonic like, a red marker on their forehead denoting their broken state. Behind them again, worn-out soldiers were digging graves, the bodies piled up like in some kind of ghoulish horror. A gasp emanated from Mary's throat, her jumbled thoughts shifting to Matthew and she said a quick prayer hoping he was not one of them. The lines of walking wounded were taking one step, and then another as if in automation back to safety. Their capes were covered in a thick sludge, bent double and lame, the silence of the men like sleepwalkers except for the sound of the guns. It took all of her strength not to seek him out. She would glance at the faces where she could, half of them unrecognisably covered in mud, but she bravely held back. She wanted to shout, to scream out his name across the stretchers of men in the hope of seeing a raised hand or his golden head looking back at her, but he was just one man in thousands. These men here, now, they were all Matthews. She took a deep breath and immediately started busying herself organising the loading of the wounded men.

Her ambulance could carry 12 stretchers which lined the sides of the truck like bunks, and then more would be piled in, those that could sit or stand, a nurse sometimes taking up residence on the back rail before she would make the slow arduous journey back to Amiens. She could hear the moans and groans of the soldiers as she navigated her way around debris and potholes in the road, and could catch the nurse gently soothing them with a "you're going to be fine," and "just hang in there lad." As men took their last breaths, unable to hold on, their cries drifted into the cab followed by silence and then, "this one is gone."

…

At the hospital, the wounded men were pouring in and spilling out onto the roadside. A makeshift triage had been set up at a commandeered hotel over the road and Sybil was busy reading the symbols on their foreheads as they piled out of the ambulances, pointing them to different areas depending on their injuries. Some of them were so bad, that they were simply made as comfortable as possible and left alone to meet their end. The smell of death and ether permeated the air. She was exhausted, and pausing a brief moment in her work she gave Major MacDonald a sad smile. He stood inside the grand hotel hunched over a table, his gloved hands inside a fallen trooper trying to tie off a stomach wound, when he heard the unmistakable sound of whining engines. He looked up sharply as the first bomb was dropped over Amiens, the windows bursting inwards over the wounded soldiers, nurses in their panic trying to cover them with blankets, then another, and another, louder this time as the ground erupted around them and he looked out the front entrance, her doors immediately blowing inwards and a rain of brick and mortar dust spewed like a wave inside.

…

Sybil heard it too, but she was too late to react, the whine of the engines hidden at first by the hum of the ambulance motors lining the street. By the time she looked skyward a second of panic gripped her as the black cross of the enemy plane swooped by, and suddenly she was in the air, the force of the blast pushing her backwards so fast she slammed into the side of the building and fell crumpled on the pavement, the mortar dust settling like a ghost in her dark hair, covering the blood on her forehead and more still, slowly dripping down her arm as a stillness settled over her.

…

Finn MacDonald couldn't hear anything. His ears were ringing, blocking out the din he could vaguely make out around him. He had covered the wounded soldier's body with his own but as he looked back down at him he was dead. He took a moment to get his bearings, as if in some kind of shock, before he remembered her face outside looking in at him, and the blast that rocked over where she had stood. A sense of terror gripped him as he tried to push his way out of the foyer, the broken oak doors hanging limply on their hinges, the glass crunching under his foot. Outside, people were slowly coming to, coughing through the thick haze, stunned. Others didn't move at all. He shouted out to her, desperately trying to pick her out, before he saw her tucked up against the wall of the hotel, loose bricks lying around her, she didn't move, even when he loudly called her name. Gently, he picked her up, her body like that of a rag doll lying limp in his arms, and carried her back inside the hotel.

…

Mary drove slowly into Amiens and, as if a riot had broken loose, people were running out across the road in front of her as bricks and mortar tumbled down in waves. The swooping and diving biplanes dropped their load, but she daren't stop, her white knuckles gripping the wheel and swerving this way and that as puffs of smoke blew out at her. One street away from the hospital she finally had to stop as a burning truck lay castrated on its side, blocking the way. She jumped down and yelling to some men sheltering in the doorframe of the boulangerie, they started to unload the stretchers, hurriedly carrying them the rest of the way. She looked on in shock at the state of the street. Ambulances halfway to being unloaded sat covered in thick dust as the bodies of men, already wrecked by war, tumbled out. Amongst them, the nurses, trying to make calm amidst the panic and retrieve a semblance of order. That's when she saw him, through the fragmented window of the hotel. His face was etched in a painful frown as he leaned over her. He looked up at Mary and her heart sank, she just knew. She ran in and saw her, her baby sister, lying lifeless and broken. Finn was working to cut away the fabric of her uniform, his breath coming out in sobbing gasps.

"What can I do?" Mary had said, her voice sounding as if in some distant dream.

"Water," he had snapped, "Warm more than hot."

Together they tried to piece her back together. Her arm was broken. On her head, a jagged cut. On her back, dark bruises were already starting to appear. Sybil stayed silent and unmoving. A peaceful quiet had settled over them, and as if in some sad dream it started to rain, the fresh pitter patter on the roof slowly bringing them all back to life.

…

_Please review, you know I love it._


	18. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

Ever so slowly Sybil had come to life too, her eyes fluttering open to the noise around her, adjusting to the light streaming in through the broken windows before reality came crashing in. A terrible pain that made her cry out was stifled as they gently pushed a vial of morphine into her arm. All the while Mary, holding her hand, was trying to soothe her aching sobs, Finn, ever so carefully stitching the cut at her temple as she fell back into unconsciousness.

"How bad is it?" Mary had whispered.

"I don't know yet, I shall have to examine her. I can't do that until she is a little lucid. A broken arm and a cut to the head doesn't seem too bad, but I am concerned about internal injuries, she is in a lot of pain which suggests some damage. We will know more later."

_"Oh God,"_ Mary had whispered, "I can't believe this is happening,"

"It is senseless!" Finn had venomously spat out. He was so angry, that as he finished the last stitch he threw his suture kit across the room and the instruments clattered down into the corner. Then he followed, picking up a brick and pounding that down as well. Mary just watched him and let him have his moment, before his shoulders visibly slumped.

"Does that make you feel any better?" She asked.

He turned back to her, "No."

They moved her into a room in the hotel, Mary keeping a vigil by her side. In a lonely moment, when the sound of the distant guns had ceased, she broke down and cried. She cried for Sybil. She cried for Matthew. She cried for the wounded men downstairs, and for all the boys now in the ground. She just sat, holding Sybil's hand and shamelessly wept.

…

At Chipilly Spur dusk was rapidly approaching and the air was starting to cool with the oncoming rain. A runner had arrived with a note from divisional headquarters, the Fourth was delaying the advance and Matthew's orders were to take the ridge, at any cost. They had been pinned down for the last two hours by a machine gun up on the spur that would fire a spurt of tut-tut-ta-ta-ta-ta-tut every time some poor soul had the gumption to venture his head up. The moon was low in the sky and as Matthew squinted up towards the dark row of pine, he asked for volunteers.

"Listen up chaps, I know we've been at it all day and you're tied. The good news is other divisions have broken through and Fritz is on the run. They're counting on us now to push on. We have to take the ridge or all their hard work will be for nothing." The men listened quietly, hunkering down in their worn greatcoats as the drizzle began to fall.

"I will be leading a squad of men up the east side to try and take out the machine gun nest, so the rest of the company can advance. Who's with me?"

Slowly, several hands started to rise and Matthew counted out their names. William too, with a "well done Jones," and a "thank you Taylor," as six men stepped forward.

They made their way onward in the dim moonlight, which provided cover on account of the long shadow cast by the trees and the ground was soft underfoot, coated in a thick layer of pine needles. "Nice night for a stroll" one of the lads had whispered, that caused a quiet chuckle to run through their single rank. The rain had really started to come down, soaking through their tunics causing the woollen fibres to rub uncomfortably underneath their rifle straps. As they ventured further up the needles gave way to rocky schist-like stones that came away in their hands. Matthew led the way, picking the safest route towards their goal, which every so often would open fire raking the valley below, the red flash of the muzzle getting closer and closer. It was slow going, every step they took they would lose their purchase on the slippery scree. He thought about the dead and the dying in the valley below turned, in the course of one day, into a cemetery, the bodies of his comrades side by side with the bodies of their enemy. Death, he thought, was just a matter of time and made no distinction between friend or foe. He thought of Mary in the same breath, and took courage from their love, the only grace in the darkness of such overwhelming loss.

…

The hospital had finally started to slow down from the day's mutilation as more and more men were transferred out by train. The night had come and seen the casualty list start to ease as both sides dug in to their new positions.

"How is she?" Finn had whispered as Mary slowly awoke, her head had been resting peacefully by Sybil's side, and she gave it a gentle massage.

"No change I'm afraid, she's just been restlessly sleeping."

'As have you by the look of it. I've come off my shift, how about I take over for awhile?" he smiled sympathically, "go, get something to eat."

"I don't want to leave her, and you must be equally tired and hungry."

"I tell you what, why don't you go and get us both something to eat and I'll organise you a bed, in here," he had gently coaxed her.

"Thank you Finn," she had momentarily touched his arm, "for everything."

"Och, I don't do it for you," he winked, Mary smiled and made her way to kitchens.

…

Suddenly the machine gun opened fire directly on their position immediately cutting two of his men down who had been following right behind him. He snapped quickly to his right taking cover beside an old tree stump, the rest of his men scrambling for any refuge they could find. Matthew moved quickly, his men laying down covering fire while he ran in a zig zag movement the last ten metres to the gunners position, keeping as far right as he could and with a grenade in hand he lobbed it over the top and in, the explosion rocking him backwards causing him to tumble and roll, the broken schist pulling and tearing at his uniform, cutting his hands.

"_Sir are you alright?"_ William was shouting at him urgently, as he was pulled and grabbed back onto his feet. He looked up at him surprised, "did we do it?"

"Aye sir, you did!" came the call from his corporal, who was standing victoriously at the top of the spur.

"Jones, send a runner down, get the rest of the regiment up here to dig in. And get someone to take back the bodies of Taylor and Davidson." He took a deep breath, and was passed a flask of brandy, taking a long swig. Another two men gone, he sighed. His hands were torn and bloody where he had tried to stop himself from falling, and William handed him a piece of rag to tie around them. They were desperate for a rest. By the time the regiment arrived at the top of the spur, reinforcements had come to relieve them and they were able to slowly make their way back down to respite.

"Did ya 'ere," one of the lads had said as they trudged along, "the 'opsital at Amiens was bombed by the bloody jerries, 'ows that for luck? You get shot up out 'ere, and then you think your safe as 'ouses looking at the face of pretty nurse, only to be shot again. They're trying to kill us twice!" The men laughed, but Matthew looked at him sharply,"Did you hear, if there were any casualties, of the nurses I mean?"

"I dunno Cap, German fokkers, attacked from the air," he replied. "German fuckers more like," another Tommy had chimed in, they laughed again, gone mad in their state of fatigue. _Sybil._ In the wake of their crazed laughter Matthew was already half-walking, half-running in his own shattered state, trying to get back to Amiens.

…

When he finally did arrive a few hours later, Mary was walking the wards, pouring out fresh water to the wounded men. She couldn't sleep, and had left Sybil in Finn's capable hands. He was fast asleep in the bed he had originally put there for her, lightly snoring. She turned and saw a black face, looking astonished back at her, and it was his eyes that she recognised first. His uniform was torn and covered in thick mud, his hands wrapped tightly in filthy rags, the dirt on his face cracking at the edges of his mouth as a sigh escaped his lips and twisted into a wide grin of relief, rather than joy. And his eyes, his bright blue eyes, looking achingly at her. Mary dropped the water jug she was holding and simply ran to him, his arms encircling her so tightly she almost couldn't breathe and they held onto each other as if they were the last two standing.

…

Sybil slowly opened her eyes. A dull pain was emanating from her back and she let out a soft moan. She could hear a voice in her ear, calling her, but she just couldn't place it. Her mind was groggy as if she were walking through dense bush and no matter how hard she tried she couldn't get out the other side of it.

"Sybil, can you hear me darling?" Finn had whispered, but she had only let out another groan, gradually her eyes came to rest on him.

"There you are," he gently said, "how's my brave girl?"

"_Finn…"_ she let out a long breath, her brow creasing as the air forced out deflating her chest and causing another gasp of pain.

"Shhh shhh" he had soothed, "I need to examine you alright? I need to check a few things. Can you squeeze my hand?" She did has he asked and he felt the fingers of her delicate hand close around his. He carried on his work, ever so carefully, trying his best not to hurt her, but eliciting a sharp intake of breath with every touch, and then nothing. He frowned, a look of concern creeping into his eyes. She couldn't feel her legs.

…

Mary sat Matthew down in one of the examination rooms, and he complied silently, too exhausted to even question as to why she was there. He knew why of course, and it made his heart sing. She gently undid the browne belt over his chest and slowly removed his tunic, still wet from the evenings rain, and he sat there in just his trousers while she unfolded the rags around his hands. He winced as she started to wash them clean, raising them to her lips every now and then to place a tender kiss to his palm. She wrapped them in fresh bandages, and started to wipe the mud away from his face; he reached for her and slowly brought his lips to hers in a long and tender kiss, his tired mind eventually coming to rest against her chest, her hands encircling his head, his thoughts of this days disfigurement, slowed: _She is here! Am I dreaming? She is like the sun amongst all this darkness, lifting my heart up and restoring me to life. _

He pulled back slightly and simply looked at her. _"I love you,"_ he had said so heartfeltly. The tears started to fall down his tired face, and Mary gently wiped them away.

…

_Ahhhh as if I would kill Sybil off, really people, have some faith! _


	19. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

A new day broke as if in answer, washing away the events of the previous day's terrible question. How many men lost? How many miles taken? The sun rose up over the Valley of the Somme and replied: 22,000 men, seven miles. It was the farthest advance the allies had ever gained.

Mary and Matthew had finally managed to get a good night's sleep in a room next to Sybil. No one had questioned them, and after all the mutilation and loss in this war, no one really cared. They had only slept anyway, curled up in each other's arms. Finn had managed to sleep well enough too, though restlessly by Sybil's side, waking every few hours so he could check on her and administer more morphine. It had given him time to review a few things, like what he was doing in this god-awful place, and what he was going to do when he went back home. After all this, he felt, his life had to have some kind of meaning. He couldn't simply go back to Rannoch to general practice as if the last four years had never happened.

Sybil opened her eyes and stared at the white ceiling above her. The pain in her back was dulled by the fog of morphine, and turning her head she could see Finn peacefully sleeping on a bed next to hers. He was on his side, facing her, his arm dangling over the edge, his expression so peaceful. She put her hand out and touched him ever so lightly. She felt…she wasn't sure. _I feel drunk_, she had thought and then laughed, as if it were so funny.

"Sybil?" Finn had opened his eyes at the noise, and taking her hand that was resting gently on his chest, he sat up. She smiled at him in her intoxicated state, but when she opened her mouth to speak nothing came out. "Water," she had finally managed to whisper and Finn had lightly poured some of the smooth liquid in, making her cough, the excess dribbling down her chin.

"I'm afraid I don't make a very good nurse," he had said, as he gently wiped it away, his eyes a solemn look as he asked how she was feeling.

"Mmmmm," Sybil's eyes closed briefly, before murmuring, "better now you're here."

"I've been here all along," he said earnestly, leaning over her.

"Have you?" she giggled again, wincing at the same time and reaching up gently cupped her hand over his cheek, her fingers slowly sliding down his face as if she couldn't hold the weight of her own arm, they paused on his lips. His hand came around hers and he smiled at her sadly. "You have such pretty green eyes," she whispered, which made Finn laugh.

"I think that's the morphine talking my dear," he whispered back.

"Is it?" she questioned, but before he could answer she had fallen back into her restless sleep.

…

Mary awoke as the sunlight started to creep in through the high windows in their room. It was sparse for a hotel, just a bed and a basin in the corner, the other fittings and furniture having long since been pilfered as a casualty of war. She lay still for a long while with Matthew sleeping quietly next to her, his cheek tucked in the hollow of her neck. He had been so worn-out. His arm lay arbitrarily over her stomach as he lay on his, it's weight a kind of reassurance as she thought about the last 24 hours. _Sybil_. Her heart ached at what Finn had told her in the early hours. _Possible spinal damage._ She had prayed then, like she did for Matthew that time in St Quentin, but she feared that any credit she had, had already been used up. _And Matthew_. She sighed, as she longingly felt the closeness of his body. He had been so exhausted when she had found him, or perhaps he had found her, standing there in the doorway unrecognisably covered in mud and looking as though he had just wrestled Hades himself to come back to her. They had hardly said anything to each other. She had cleaned the wounds on his hands, stripped him quietly down and bathed him, delicately removing the mud of the day's violence. And still they didn't speak, all the conversation they were having without words was enough. She counted herself lucky and thanked God again for sparing him, and slowly, she eased out of bed and made her way to Sybil.

…

Mary had found Finn going over her chart for the umtempth time. She looked at him expectantly, but he simply replied, "I don't know yet." Mary sighed, and quietly asked, "When will we know?"

"Hard to say. The bruising is making it hard to diagnose, only time will tell I'm afraid. She hasn't asked yet, and I don't want her to discover it alone." Suddenly he turned to Mary, beseechingly, "She has to go back to England, a transport has been organised, she leaves tonight. I want to ask you…if, if you can go with her? I would feel better if someone was with her on the journey," he had looked so earnestly at her, that she gently laid a hand on his forearm and embraced him, her friend.

"Of course we will," Matthew's voiced echoed over from the where he was leaning on the door frame. "I'll get a telegram through to my Mother, tell them to expect us."

…

Finlay had managed to organise leave for Matthew as well, on account of his hands, and they left at 5pm on the last train. It was packed almost to the curved ceiling with wounded men and soldiers who had finally gotten their leave. They had managed to secure themselves their own private corner in one of the officer's carriages, though still crammed with men, and took turns to watch Sybil. She spent most of the time sleeping, pumped full of morphine to ease the journey and the rickety-rack of the train's arduous movement. Finally, after almost a day or so of travelling and delays, they arrived at the hospital at Downton.

…

Her father had greeted them as they stepped down out of the ambulance. His face a look of seriousness, and softness too, as they escorted her inside. Dr Clarkson, giving his examination and declaring with more conviction the prognosis, as if written in stone. _She will never walk again_. Mary wasn't sure what her father would say to her after having run away to France again. Would he be angry? Disappointed? But he took her gently aside. "I'm glad," he had finally said, "that you were with her." His eyes were full of a kind of sadness that made Mary's heart sink.

"_Oh papa…" _and they had hugged each other and for a brief moment it had made all of it alright.

"I can't say I'm happy," he had finally said, "but I am glad you and Matthew are safe and that you have brought Sybil home alive." They had cried then, all of them, so relieved that the worst was over.

…

Dinner at the abbey that night was a quiet affair. Mary had not wanted to leave Sybil's side but finally Isobel had managed to persuade her to go home to eat and change, on the promise that she would watch over her. Over the coming days she gradually began to improve, and they made arrangements to bring her back to Downton Abbey. She had had questions of course, and Mary had answered them as best she could. She had not been convinced of Dr Clarkson's diagnosis, but he seemed adamant to end all hope. She sent a telegram to Finn in the hopes that he might know of someone who could give a second opinion. She was trying, above all else, to give Sybil courage, but she had slipped into a deep depression.

Matthew had been spending as much time as he could at Downton, and had become a regular feature, even at breakfast. The Earl had taken him aside on that first evening and told him he could come as often as he wanted on one condition, he was not to stay the night, and Matthew had known what he had meant. He had blushed, but Robert had simply said that he no longer wanted to dwell on it.

One morning at breakfast a few days later he enquired, "You're hands are healing I take it?" Matthew looked down at his palms, which were now only dressed lightly with gauze. "I expect you will be called back soon." Robert said sadly.

Mary's eyes shot up to his, and he gave her a knowing look.

"Don't worry my dear, we will have a few days more at least." He gave Robert a disappointed glance, he had hoped to make their happiness last as long as possible before he had to discuss what was inevitably coming.

"But I thought you were done with all of that?" Mary exclaimed, "How can they ask you to return, you did your duty, for months in that stinking hell hole!"

"Mary!" Robert chided her, looking up from his breakfast.

"I'm sorry Papa, but it's so unfair," Matthew patted her gently on the arm and was about to tell her they didn't know anything yet, when Edith suddenly looked up from the newspaper and squealed, _"Good God!"_

"What is it?" Robert quickly asked, concerned.

"There's a piece in here about you Matthew!"

"What?" he went to reach for the paper, but she had already started to read it aloud.

"The heir to the Earl of Grantham, whose seat is Downton Abbey, is to be awarded the _Distinguished Service Order_ for valour in the line of duty." Everyone around the table gasped, as she continued, "During the battle of Amiens, Captain M Crawley, showing great courage under fire and with complete disregard for his own safety singlehandedly destroyed an enemy machine gun post under difficult and trying circumstances. His bravery directly contributed to the day's victory, allowing the fourth army to continue its advance."

The room was stunned. Matthew stared down at his plate before slowly looking over at Mary, while Robert, standing, slapped him on the back with a "well done!" She had a pained look on her face and he knew what she was going to say, but he raised his hand and stopped her.

"It really wasn't like that. We…we were ordered to, really, I wasn't in any danger, they are over exaggerating, we were just doing as we were told."

"Is that how you hurt your hands?" Edith had asked surprised. "It doesn't sound like you weren't in any danger to _me_."

"Well, I am just happy that you are here, safe and sound," Mary quietly said, before excusing herself. Matthew stood as she left the room, staring at her retreating back.

"Don't worry, she'll be alright, she's just worried about you," Robert said gently, "but I have to say I am so proud!" as he slapped him on the back again, and Matthew gave him a warm smile.

….

Matthew found Mary in the library, looking through an array of books lining the shelf. "Anything good?" he had questioned.

She turned, with a frown, and replied, "Not really."

Suddenly, out of the blue he simply said, "Let's get married."

Mary looked up, surprised, "what are you talking about? We _are_ getting married."

"No, I don't mean after the war. I mean now, this week."

"Oh Matthew, don't be ridiculous, we couldn't possibly organise it in one week. Think of our friends and family." She rolled her eyes at him and he grabbed her around the waist, his hands encircling her soft curves.

"Everyone we want is right here. We can telegram Rosamund, she could get here in time." He nestled his cheek against hers, "Then we could be married, we could spend my last few days of leave as husband and wife…I could…_wake up next to you_," he had whispered.

She looked at him amusingly, "you're just saying that because you have to go back. If we marry you'll have nothing to look forward to and end up doing something _stupidly heroic_." She said pointedly, and pulling out of his arms she gave him an irritable stare, but he persisted.

"Why wait? Darling, there's no point to it don't you see?"

"Here is the hero of the hour," the Dowager Countess suddenly interrupted, her smile turning into a frown, "No point to what?" as she looked between them, registering the awkwardness that had ensued.

Mary sighed, appealing to her grandmother, "Matthew wants to get married."

"I thought you already were dear?"

"Yes, but he means this week!"

Granny raised her eyebrows at him, before taking a seat on a worn footstool. "Well, you can't blame him," she said seriously, resting her hand on the silver top of her cane, "one does seem to want to live for the moment in times of war."

Mary looked at her incredulously before Matthew, seeing his opportunity, continued, "She's worried that I will give up or do something stupid if I have nothing to look forward to. Tell her spending the rest of my life with her is something to look forward too," he appealed to her as he swept his hand out towards Mary.

The dowager smiled, "I take it this has to do with the fact that Robert has _laid down the law_, as it were." Matthew blushed, "oh now dear don't be embarrassed. We were all young once." She looked to Mary, "well?"

"Well what Granny?" Mary had sighed.

"I shall talk to the vicar. I am sure we can arrange it." And patting Matthew softly on the arm, she turned and left.

…

_A wedding! Yay. Please review._


	20. Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

Doctor James Carnegie owed Findlay MacDonald a favour. He stood in his outer office at the Royal Hospital London where Carnegie was a fellow, and thought back to the last time he had seen him. It had been 1913 and he had hit him so hard he had fractured his hand, and Carnegie's nose if he remembered correctly, which had cheered him up somewhat at the time. They had gone to medical school together, which is how Carnegie had met his younger sister Charlotte. He had then sort out, pursued and convinced her to run away with him to Paris. Finn visibly grimaced thinking back to it. Their housekeeper had kept the romance quiet, but when Charlotte did not come down to breakfast one morning he knew something was afoot. He tracked them as far as Calais, and practically broke down their hotel room door. He had got there in time and thankfully her virtue had stayed in tact, but she ended up in the gossip columns anyway, a fallen woman. He hadn't even thought of Carnegie in the years since, but now he was one of the top specialists in the new field of neurosurgery, and Finn needed his help.

"Good God, what are you doing here?" Carnegie said disdainfully as he walked out of his office.

"I need a favour"

"Why should I do you any favours, you broke my nose!"

"You deserved it." Finn replied, matter-of-factly.

"That's true, should have known better than to mess with a mad Scotsman. You want a drink? Whiskey if I remember?" he began to pour out two neat glasses of Glenfiddich, and passed one over.

"I have a case I need your help on. Lady Sybil Crawley, spinal injury. She was a nurse in France, a bomb blast threw her against a wall and she hasn't been able to walk since."

Carnegie smirked; he could see the look in the other man's eye. "Lady eh? My my, you are moving up in the world. What hospital is she at?"

"She's not, she's at home at Downton Abbey."

"Downton Abbey! Blimey. That's the Earl of Grantham isn't it? Does he know your coveting his daughter?"

Finn looked positively annoyed, "I'm not going to beg James, I came to ask you for your help, and God knows you owe me. I'm going up there tomorrow morning, taking the 8 o'clock train, I want you to be on it."

Carnegie took a long swig of his whiskey and agreed, "alright Mac, keep your knickers on. But if I do this, then we're square. Anyway, I have a lovely lass to see in York, no reason why I can't stop at the grand Downton Abbey on the way. You never know, she might prefer me to you."

Finn just glared at him and turning on his heel, walked out, "8 o'clock! Don't forget."

…

The library was in total chaos. Isobel, Violet and Cora were all shouting over each other as Matthew and Mary sat together on the settee, listening to them arguing over flowers and dresses and who was going to be the best man.

"We don't even have time to read the banns!" Cora had exclaimed, looking imploringly at Matthew, "really, I can't get you to change your mind? There just isn't enough time," but before Matthew could respond, she had turned to her daughter, "and Mary, surely this is not the wedding you would have wanted, if you could just wait until after the war, it's bound to end soon enough."

"Well I think it's wonderful," Isobel had added, "And why wait? They love each other and want to seal that love."

"Quite right, and not a moment too soon," Granny raised her eyebrows in their direction, which caused Mary to let out a long sigh. She turned to Matthew.

"Do you see what you've done? Our last moments together before you have to go are to be ruined by our respective mothers arguing and Granny making inappropriate gestures."

Matthew just laughed and patting her thigh gently gave her a sympathetic look. They had spent the day in the garden with Sybil talking about anything and everything, trying to keep her mind off her condition. When Finn had telephoned to say he was on leave and coming up with a specialist to take a second look at her, she had brightened a little before falling back into her melancholy. "I'm not sure I have the energy to hope," she had said. "Won't it be nice to see Finn at last?" Mary had ventured, trying to get a spark from her, but she had simply shrugged and replied, "Why? So he can see me like this? A useless cripple who can't even dress herself?" Mary had given up trying to comfort her; it seemed to work best if she just let her be for a while before finding something else for them to do.

…

Finn arrived at the station in Downton after an awkward three-hour train journey with James Carnegie. He had to admit, the man was charming and he remembered why they had been such good friends in the first place. A driver collected them from the station as they made their way up to the house, and the sight of it as they rounded the corner took his breath away. Carnegie sat forward in his seat and let out a low whistle, looking impressively at his friend. "Well well Mac, I wonder, what _does_ she see in you?"

"Oh shut up," Finn finally responded, "Or I'll break your nose again." But Carnegie was already sitting back and laughing to himself as they pulled up in front of the grand house

…

By the time Finn and Carnegie had been introduced around the family and offered a cup of tea, Finn had become obviously restless. The only thing he had wanted to do immediately upon arrival was to go and see Sybil, but he had been told she was resting and he hadn't wanted to seem too forthright, not in front of her father. Who was he anyway? Some middle-class Doctor from the battlefields of France, hardly the kind of man the Earl is going to show up to his daughter's bedroom. Matthew could see it though, and he touched him lightly on the arm.

"Don't worry old chap, you'll get to her soon enough," he winked. "Actually while I have you, there's something I want to ask."

"Oh?" Finn had looked at him expectantly.

"Mary and I are getting married tomorrow. If you can stay that is, will you volunteer to be my best man?"

Finn looked at him in surprise. "Tomorrow!" He beamed, "I had no idea! Of course, I'd be delighted."

"I had no idea either," Mary remarked drolly, as Matthew gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

"When do you think we can see Sybil?" he had suddenly asked, his hands dangling restlessly beside him. Mary smiled at him genuinely.

"Of course you want to see her. That's why you came after all. Now is as good a time as any, I'll speak to Papa."

Her father had immediately agreed that there was no point wasting time, asking Anna to inform Lady Sybil that they would be in directly.

"Will you be staying the night? I can have a room made up for you both if you wish." He had enquired.

"I can't stay," James said, when Matthew quickly interrupted, "But Major MacDonald will be, he's going to be my best man tomorrow."

Robert looked at him, surprised, and simply replied, "of course."

…

Findlay MacDonald and James Carnegie spent the next three quarters of an hour in her room examining her while the others waited outside the open doorway expectantly. He had been so nervous when he had first entered but Sybil had smiled so warmly at him that it eased his initial worries. They didn't say much to each other, he couldn't, not while Carnegie was poking her and prodding her and asking her question after question. Finally he had stopped and looked at them both. "It might be permanent, or it might not. It's hard to say."

Sybil looked down, her face immediately changed to one of pain, the tears starting to edge down her cheeks. It was like being told all over again. "It's not as bad as all that Lady Sybil, there is hope. I just can't tell how much hope. You're better to simply wait and see." He went to exit when Finn grabbed him by the elbow, and pulled him aside.

"Wait and see? What's that supposed to mean?" he hissed, "I didnae bring you here to upset her!"

"What do you want me to say Mac, I came, I saw, _I can't conquer_. There are too many unknowns. I haven't said 'you'll never walk again' have I? I'm only saying it's too hard to tell. You'll know soon enough. The spine is a remarkable thing. Provided the spinal cord isn't severed, as the bruising goes down she might find the pressure relieved and voila, she can walk. Or not. _Now let go of my arm."_

"It's alright Finn, I don't know what I expected anyway," Sybil replied tearfully, and Finn let go of James abruptly and he strode out into the hall.

"You came, you saw, you didn't conquer. What a pity," Edith was looking at him, demurely, leaning on the staircase. He raised his eyes questioningly at her, his mouth turning up into a smirk, "Oh I don't know, the night is young." He turned, and went to seek Lord Grantham out, to say he would be staying after all.

…

Finn sat down solemnly on the bed next to Sybil and handed her his handkerchief. She let out an embarrassed laugh as she took it. "Oh perfect, now I am not only a cripple but I'm an hysterical cripple."

"Don't say that," he looked at her imploringly, "it's going to be alright, I promise."

"You can't promise that Finn MacDonald, you don't know what the future holds," she cried.

"Well, I know that it has you in it," he whispered quietly, "and for now that's all that matters."

"Well?" Robert was standing expectantly in the door frame looking at both of them. Finn got up and made his way over, relaying Carnegie's diagnosis back to him.

"So all this has done is upset my daughter and we know nothing more than we did yesterday."

"I wouldn't say that," Mary pleaded, "Clarkson said there was no hope and now Finn is telling us that there is. That has to be worth something." Her father sighed, resigned.

"I just want everything to go back to how it was, before the war."

'I don't think we can ever go back," Finn replied pensively, "but we can go forward, with one day at a time until…we can't remember what it used to be like, and what we have here and now is the thing we want to hold on too."

Robert looked at him, captivated, "Quite right."

…

_Wow a lot of reviews for the last chapter! If I had known all I had to do to get you to review was to mention a wedding I would have said that in Chapter One, ha! Love love loved reading them so thank you. No wedding this chapter, but coming up….da dun dun nahhhhh…._


	21. Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

Matthew awoke early the following day with a mixture of nervousness and excitement. _At last._ He dressed carefully and considerately, slowly pulling on his stiff fronted shirt, the crisp whiteness of it in stark contrast to the usual olive green wool. The rest of the house was still asleep, even the servants. He wanted to enjoy this time alone, to reflect, as he slowly pulled on his scarlet red jacket, deliberately smoothing the black collar down. He sat on the edge of the bed and ran his fingers over his Captain's epaulettes. A letter had arrived at Crawley House the previous evening from the War Office, officially ending his leave. He was to report to the regimental headquarters in Amiens on Monday. He sighed. But today, he affirmed, _today is our day and there is no war._

…

At Downton Abbey Mary was awake as well, as she had restlessly been for some time and finally giving up, she got up and quietly opened Sybil's door.

"Are you asleep?"

"Well if I was I wouldn't be now!" Sybil said, mockingly, as Mary sat herself down on the bed beside her. The sun was starting to slowly rise; it's warm rays creeping in from the window.

"I'm sorry, I'm just excited, I couldn't sleep."

"Well, today is the big day, you should be. I wish you'd reconsider though and have Edith instead." Mary knew where this was going. Last night she had asked Sybil to be her Maid of Honour and she had finally agreed, reluctantly, when Mary wouldn't take no for an answer.

"Edith said it herself, I can hardly roll up the aisle!"

"Don't be ridiculous, do you really think Matthew and I care how you make it to the alter with us, except that you do? We need you as a witness," she smiled amusingly, raising her eyebrow just so.

"I just don't want to take away from your day, everyone will be staring at me."

"Don't be silly, they won't be staring at you, they'll be staring at me. I am the bride after all."

"Perhaps they will be staring at me," Finn interrupted, poking his head into the room, "they'll be wondering who this handsome and dashing stranger is by your side." Finn's tall frame took over the entire doorway as he smiled at them both, smartly dressed in his officer's kilt of the Royal Scots Regiment. Suddenly he became embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I was just on my way out, to Crawley House. I heard voices…I, I shouldn't have been so presumptuous."

"It's fine," Sybil smiled warmly at him, "come in, Mary and I were just talking."

"Yes, and I have to go," she kissed her sister on the cheek, "Anna is organising my dress. She spent half the night getting it ready, it was Mamas, so hopefully it fits," she gave a little laugh, and turning to Finn, "tell Matthew not to be late," she laughed again and left, leaving them alone.

"It's too early, and this isn't quite right," Finn reluctantly said, nervous to find himself suddenly alone in her bedroom, "I should go."

"Wait." Sybil entreated, "I want to thank you."

"For what?" he looked at her earnestly.

"For saving me. In Amiens. Though sometimes I wish that you hadn't," she looked down, ashamed, and in two successive strides, he was by her side taking her hand in his.

"_I would save you thousand times over,"_ he whispered, his eyes appealing to her, "You will get better, I know this," turning her hand over he placed a delicate kiss to her wrist, "and even if you don't and all hope is lost, then I would still save you a thousand times again, no matter the outcome."

"_Oh Finn_, you don't mean that."

"I do," he looked at her seriously. "You are one of the strongest women I have ever known. Your courage is an inspiration, you make me…" his voice started to crack a little, when he continued, "you make me want to do something that matters." He breathed out a nervous sigh and leaning forward, he quickly kissed her, so softly, so sweetly, before standing again, his eyes imploring her. "I should go," and he turned and left, leaving Sybil watching his retreating back, her hand coming to rest on her lips, her pounding heart telling her that for the first time in weeks she was alive.

…

When Finn arrived at Crawley House the servants were just waking. Matthew greeted him at the door, already fully dressed save for the white carnation he would wear on his left collar.

"You said come early, so I have," Finn smiled sheepishly at him, and Matthew warmly grabbed his hand, giving it a uneasy shake.

"We're just having breakfast, come and join us."

His mother was sitting, still in her dressing gown reading the paper when she looked up, surprised.

"Good God, doesn't anybody sleep anymore?" she blushed, and Finn quickly replied, "My apologies Mrs Crawley, I don't mean to surprise you by turning up so."

"Oh nonsense, Matthew's been up for some time. Excuse me, I should go and get dressed," she smiled at him, embarrassed, and made her departure. He turned to Matthew.

"And how are we this fine morning? I have to tell you I saw your fair bride on my way out, and she said to say, '_don't be late._" Matthew gave out a nervous laugh.

"What's the matter?" Finn looked at his anxious stance, as he stood almost pacing by the window. He turned, and handed him the letter.

"_Captain M Crawley to report to regimental headquarters by 1700 hours on September 1._ Oh I see…. That's this Monday?"

"Yes," he looked down at his hands, the wounds all but gone. "I'm surprised it took them this long really."

"But you expected it." He said matter-of-factly.

"Yes, but I wish…I wish it could have come tomorrow." He smiled at him sadly.

"But you have today." He walked over and patted him encouragingly on the shoulder. "You will get married. You will go back and do your duty. And, then you will come home to your wife."

Matthew looked at him and let out a long breath, and smiled excitedly, "My wife. Yes." He grabbed Finn's hand again and gave it a grateful shake.

"Actually, there's something I want to ask you." Finn looked at him expectantly.

"Oh?"

"What would you think, well, what do you think Lord Grantham would think if I….if I, asked for Lady Sybil's hand in marriage?"

"Good Lord." Matthew's face broke out in a surprised grin that he didn't hesitate, "I should think that he would count himself lucky to have such a fine fellow as a son-in-law."

"Ah, you do me more justice than I deserve, I'm hardly the usual suspect," he winced, "I'm a doctor, and a Scot, I wonder whether he'd prefer a Duke or a Sir, or an Englishman at least."

He looked back at him amused, "The confident Doctor, the man of the world, has doubts!" Matthew smiled mockingly at him, before turning serious. "To quote you…if I recall correctly; _If I had a woman willing to love me with such honest abandon, I wouldn't be standing here talking to a…a Major."_

Finn looked down embarrassed, and laughed. "Your remember that? Well, I may have been drunk at the time."

"Perhaps, but right nonetheless."

"I dinnae know, I don't…" he hesitated, unsure, "I don't how she feels about me." He looked at his friend so honestly, that Matthew took him gently by the shoulder.

"Seize the day," he encouraged, and quoting him again he said, "Love, love my friend will save us all."

…

The autumnal leaves were slowly rustling along the lanes and pathways as Matthew and Finn pulled up at the small church. The guests had already gathered, taking their seats amongst the congregation. Theirs was a small gathering of family and friends from across the county, and the servants of course too, taking their place at the back. They made their way to the front of the church, shaking hands with the vicar. Matthew thanked him for being so generous on such short notice, and he looked in Violets direction.

"One can hardly say no Mr Crawley, when you have the Dowager in your corner," he drolly replied, and directed them where to stand.

The music started and Matthew and Finn stood facing the alter, their backs to the back of the Church. He had his hands clasped behind him, shoulders square, in his stomach the sudden nerves flowed upwards to his flushed face, and he took a deep breath. Finn turned, and saw her walking towards them, and he whispered back to his friend, "you're one lucky son of a bitch." Matthew, letting out a long held breath, turned. His eyes immediately softened at the sight of her, in a long white dress classically beautiful, the lace of her veil flowing softly behind her, her slim womanly figure gliding towards him. He couldn't take his eyes of her, even as Robert slowly kissed her cheek and passed her to him, still he was awestruck.

"_You look beautiful,"_ he whispered, taking her hand in his, and together they turned to face the vicar, the hymn, "I Vow to Thee My Country' echoing out across the vaulted ceiling. It came to a close and the minister's plain voice rang out…

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the presence of these witnesses, to join Matthew and Mary in holy matrimony, which is commended to be honorable among all men; and therefore is not by any to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly, but reverently, discreetly, advisedly and solemnly. Into this holy estate these two persons present now come to be joined. Who gives this woman to be married to this man?

'I do," Robert Crawley looked proudly at the both of them. Finn glanced over to where Sybil was sitting, in her chair to Mary's right and gave her a happy smile, his eyes lighting up in the corners, and she responded with the same.

Matthew turned to face Mary, taking her hands in his, and he gave her a nervous smile.

"I, Matthew Crawley, take you, Mary Josephine Crawley, to be my beloved wife, to have and to hold you, to honour you, to treasure you, to be at your side in sorrow and in joy, in the good times, and in the bad, and to love and cherish you always. This I promise you from my heart, for all the days of my life." Mary gave him a loving smile in return, her hand sitting in his as he slipped the ring on her finger, and she, saying the vows back to him without hesitation save for the tears that fell down her cheeks.

The vicar's voice rang out again, but they only had eyes for each other.

"May this couple be prepared to continue to give, be able to forgive and experience more and more joy with each passing day, with each passing year. In so much as Matthew and Mary have consented to live forever together in wedlock, and have witnessed the same before this company, having given and pledged their troth, each to the other, and having declared same by the giving and receiving of a ring, I pronounce that they are husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride."

Together as one their lips met, as the congregation erupted into applause. The vicar turned and pronounced, ladies and gentlemen I give you, Mr and Mrs Crawley." They both let out a sigh of relief, and he pulled her to him again, taking her lips, again, in his.

"That's enough Crawley, you've got all night." Came the comment and ensuing laughter from some of his regimental friends that he blushed, before suddenly finding his hand being shook from all quarters as they made their way out of the Church and into the waiting carriage.

…

Finally seated and alone as the horse and carriage made it's way back to Downton Abbey, Matthew took her hand in his, and gently leant his forehead against hers. "We did it," he declared triumphantly, letting out a happy laugh, and she matched it, kissing him longingly, rubbing her hand lightly over his.

He sighed, "well, we just have the rest of the evening to get through and then we can be alone."

"Is that all you ever think about?" she mocked him laughingly, unable to hide her joy, and he laughed again.

"I can't tell you how happy you make me," and he caught her lips again in a long and tender caress as they slowly rolled up to the front of Downton Abbey.

…

The reception was not a quiet affair in the scheme of things, despite the fact that the wedding was last minute, many had gathered from around the county to wish the happy couple the best of luck. Matthew's regimental friends were in good form, loudly drinking and toasting the happy couple. Even Sybil was considerably cheery, Finn making his best effort to keep her entertained.

They had hardly seen each other all evening, doing their best to mingle with their guests, getting caught in this conversation and that and every now and then glancing at each other across the room with a blissful smile. As the night wore on, Matthew finally took her by the hand and whispered, "I think it's time we said goodbye." She smiled at him, expectantly, as he took Robert aside.

"Would it be so terrible, if Mary and I were to retire?" he raised his eyebrows at him questioningly.

"Of course not old chap, how can we deny you that? It's been a big day." And in one swift movement he clanged a knife against his glass, getting the attention of the room.

'Ladies and gentleman, thank you all for coming. I just wanted to give you the opportunity to say goodbye to the a happy couple."

Matthew looked embarrassed, before someone from the back, a Lieutenant whom Matthew had been through training with, shouted out, "Give us a speech Crawley!"

Matthew smiled shyly, taking Mary's hand tightly in his.

"What's to say? Well, thank you all for coming on such short notice, I know it was a lot to ask…"

"Bout time!" came another shout from the back causing them both to laugh.

"Yes well, they do say good things take time. I…I promised I wouldn't get to caught up in the days events, given that, well, the war is still raging over the Channel…but, today is a day where we can at least, for awhile, forget about all that." He looked longingly at Mary, "And I can honestly say that today I have. Today is the happiest day of my life."

"Hear hear! To the happy couple!" as glasses were raised in a toast.

"Such a shame you have to leave on Monday," his Mother chimed in sadly, as her glass came down from her lips. Matthew looked at her horrified and then saw Mary's face, crestfallen, looking at his. He took her hand tightly, _"Darling…."_ He pleaded, "I was going to tell you…but I, I didn't want to ruin our day." She sadly took his cheek in her hand, "it hasn't, it couldn't," she bravely smiled at him, an awkwardness settling over the room.

They all quieted then, unsure what to say, when Finn, to his relief, leaning against the mantle piece in a pure, clear and beautiful voice, started to sing…

"Sometimes when I feel bad and things look blue, I wish a gal I had...say one like you. Someone within my heart to build a throne, someone who'd never part, to call my own."

"If you were the only girl in the world, and I were the only boy, nothing else would matter in the world today, we could go on loving in the same old way,"

"A garden of Eden just made for two, with nothing to mar our joy..." Suddenly he was joined by Sybil...who's voice gently and with building crescendo, joined in, echoing like an angel across the room...

"I would say such wonderful things to you, there would be such wonderful things to do, if you were the only girl in the world, and I were the only boy."

…

_By God, I don't know what it is like in your part of the world but it is freezing cold in New Zealand today, that I've been sitting in front of the fire on my laptop with a glass of wine. I hope I can get this story finished before I go on my ski trip next month. Yes, it is winter here and there is tons of snow! This chapter was damn hard to write. I actually wrote an entirely different version first, then deleted it…hence the delay. Hope you liked it…please let me know what you think!_


	22. Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty One

When Matthew finally opened the door to her bedroom he felt as though he were crossing a threshold. He had never seen its interior before, the soft glow of the candles illuminating the room, the warmth from the fire sending flickers of light dancing across the ceiling. Robert had organised a room for him next door and he could almost have laughed at the propriety, Bates offering to undress him, laying out his dressing gown just so. He stood behind him while he removed his scarlet jacket and Matthew had simply said, "do you know Bates, I don't particularly want to be in here with you, no offence," He gave him a little chuckle, "please excuse me," and he had left, taking the two short strides to her door. He opened it and stood there a moment, she was sitting at her dressing table with Anna about to take the combs out of her hair. She smiled at him so sweetly.

"Hello, I wondered if I could have a moment alone with my wife," his voice was strained, full of expectation. Anna, as if knowing, simply smiled shyly at him and suddenly they were alone.

He beamed at her nervously. _I shouldn't be nervous_ he had thought, and yet he was, standing there anxiously before her.

She turned, and her smile became wider, almost a grin.

"What?"

"Oh, I just like hearing you say that."

He took another three purposeful steps and knelt down unhurriedly before her, his hand tucking a loose strand behind her ear. He reached up and kissed her and quietly whispered, "_my wife,"_ to her again as he slowly pulled the clips out, letting her long dark hair cascade down her back, feeling it flow silk-like through his fingers. He took her head in both of his hands as he leant up, his lips brushing over hers full of a promise, his hands moving down her long and elegant neck, followed by his tender kisses coming to rest on her collarbone where he slowly and deliberately smoothed his hands over its fine structure, as if he was touching her for the first time, enthralled. Mary could feel her heart beginning to quicken as he slowly undid the top of her dress, allowing the fabric to fall away revealing her breast and he placed delicate kisses over them, taking them slowly into his mouth, one and then the other, his breath so hot against her that she had to put a hand out onto the dresser to stop herself from falling as her head arched back in a barely audible sigh and then she felt his lips on her throat and then on her mouth again before lifting her and quietly making his way over to the bed, laying her down on the thick duvet.

He worked deliberately, gradually, and without saying a word slowly removed her clothing until she was lying naked before him, his breath coming out in ragged gasps that when he finally did speak he hardly recognised it. _"Do you know how lovely you are?"_ He smiled sadly at her, wanting to make the moment last knowing he was bound to his duty, to England. Mary could see the desolation in his eyes and leaning forward she kissed his forehead, lingering there with such tenderness, _"we have tonight," _she whispered, as his eyes implored hers and she began to painstakingly unravel his black tie, gradually teasing the fabric out, then started to work on his buttons, Matthew's hands coming up to meet hers and together they made quick work of it as he threw it onto the floor, his lips gently came back down onto hers and she could feel him, hard against her, as his left hand started to edge its way from her cheek, down her throat, over her breast all the while his lips following like loyal soldiers leaving a trail of moist kisses as he worked his way down over her abdomen, his tongue pausing there at her belly button, making her giggle slightly and he laughed against her, before resuming his task, his hand now on the inside of her thigh moving slowly up until he reached her_. "Oh my God, Matthew,"_ she breathlessly moaned and he looked up at her, her breath coming out in torn gasps that made him smile, _"please," _she begged, as his lips captured hers again she reached for his trousers, running her hands quickly up the side of the bold red gallon stripes sliding them along the front of his belly and plucking at the buttons, one at the time, all the while Matthew's lips raked over hers and at that spot just below her ear that made her gasp again and at her throat and back as she slid her fingers in under the soft fabric sliding it over his hips and he pulled them all the way off before coming back up to her as she opened herself to him. He leant down over her his breath coming out in quick succession and then he suddenly slowed, almost deliberately, his muscles tensing as he paused and she could feel him, all of him, on the inside of her thigh still there for but a moment, his eyes fixed longingly on hers before he slowly entered her, causing a sharp intake of breath at the sensation that he stopped halfway, both letting out a sigh of relief as he filled her completely as if they were the perfect fit, her hips rising to meet his and he let out a loud groan, burying his head in her neck, her hands around the back of his shoulders and slowly he started to move, the quiet air cut with the sounds of their passion, his hand on the outside of her thigh, coaxing her leg higher as he pushed in again, deeper still which made them both gasp at their heartfelt rhythm, his lips on hers, his tongue roaming into her mouth with every thrust in time with each other as their cadence began to build, slowly at first and then with more urgency as his hips pushed into hers over and over and over, his muscles starting to tremble as she shattered around him, letting out a stifled moan that was swallowed by his lips as he, with one more drive found his release and he pulsed into her, his buttocks quaking and both of their bodies shuddering in total ecstasy. He stayed there above her for a moment or two, resting as much as he could on his elbows, barely able to hold himself up laying soft caresses to her temple, her jaw, her lips, before he gently moved off her pulling her to him and he kissed her forehead, brushing the hair out of her eyes. He sighed. _"God I have wanted to do that for so long," _he whispered, kissing her forehead again.

Mary simply sighed, taking his hand in hers. _"At least we can stay like this until morning, as husband and wife."_ She could feel his cheeks move against hers as he smiled. _"What is it?"_

"_Nothing, I just, I like hearing you say it."_

…

_Short chapter, sorry. But, I suppose, I simply had to give you the wedding night._


	23. Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Two

Findlay MacDonald paced nervously up and down the great hall waiting for Lady Sybil. They had agreed the night before that he would wait for her in the morning and take a walk, on account of his having to leave for the hospital in Amiens that afternoon. He was nervous, clasping his hands so tightly behind his back that the buttons on the front of his olive green uniformed pulled at the edges. He had decided to take his friends advice, and seize the day. Finally she came in, pushed by Carson, and he spun around abruptly to face her.

"How are you this morning?" he positively beamed at her, bounding up, and quickly feeling a little foolish he took Carson's hand and gave it a shake before assuming his position behind her chair and pushing her forward and out into the sunshine. Carson stood and looked on at him most peculiarly, finding it amusing that the formerly self-assured Scottish doctor could become suddenly so awkward in Lady Sybil's presence that he chuckled to himself.

"Last night was fun…" he finally said, as they made their way on a well-worn path around the edge of the abbey and out into the garden.

"Yes, it was. I'm so happy for Matthew and Mary, god knows it took them long enough," she said with a laugh. "I hope Mary will be alright with him leaving tomorrow."

"She's not going back? To France I mean?"

"Apparently not. She thinks I need looking after. I told her quite sternly that she should go but she won't hear of it. I think she means to try and keep my spirits up by staying."

"And does it?" he stopped slowly by one of the bench seats that sat under a large oak tree, the sun in parts streaming through the leaves. They were already starting to turn a golden yellow as autumn settled in and he sat down and faced her. Sybil sighed, and looked out at the gardens pensively.

"Stay or go, it makes no difference, I still have to sit in this chair. I suppose I just need to accept it."

He swallowed his fear down, and took both of her delicate hands in his and leaned forward towards her.

"What would you say if I, if…I thought…no if I, oh _christ_," he looked skywards as a single leaf floated slowly down onto the soft dewy grass. He turned back to her inquisitive face. "I'm not doing this very well. Sybil…_darling_," he swallowed nervously, clasping her hands even tighter. _"I love you."_ There, he had said it, he let out an uneasy breath and looked up at her, his face sincerely appealing to hers and his hand reached up to give her cheek a soft caress. She started to cry. He looked down again and frowned, "that wasn't exactly how I imagined it to go," he said quietly. _ "Are you alright?"_

She just sat there, sobbing, and he quietly waited, still holding onto her hands.

"I'm sorry Finn…I just, I can't."

"Can't what? I havenae asked you anything yet." He quietly reproached, "maybe…" he suddenly lost his nerve, "maybe I overstep the mark, maybe I, I don't know what I was thinking," he said quickly as he suddenly stood and paced in front of her, his hands twisting by his sides, "I mean, you are a lady and I am just some backward highland doctor, hardly up to scratch for an Earl's daughter." His voice softened then and he became still, his eyes looking so intensely upon her, "but I..I'm leaving today and I just wanted to tell you," he shook his head desperately, "I don't want to have any regrets."

"You don't mean it Finn. I mean, look at me!" she threw her hands out in front of her as if to accentuate the point, before placing her palms down on the blanket covering her hopeless condition.

"I do mean it damn it." He replied angrily, once again taking up his pace before her. "Do you think I care? I don't. I want_ you. All of you._ Whether you can walk or not!"

"_Please Finn…"_ she tried to plead with him, as the tears continued to flow down her cheeks.

"No damn it. You will get better, I know it!"

"How do you know? You can't know, and you're right! You're just a highland doctor!" she shouted at him, throwing her words back at him that he physically recoiled, a look of pain etched across his face as a silence ensued.

"Well," he said softly, "perhaps you're right. We should, we should get back inside." He took his place behind her again and quickly pushed her back to the house, neither of them saying another word. As they made their way into the library, he went to turn to leave and she stopped him, gently placing her hand on his arm.

"I'm sorry." Her face imploring him, "I hurt you just now and I can't bear the thought of doing that, you don't deserve it." He smiled at her sadly. "And you're wrong, you are up to scratch."

"But, you won't let me ask you?" he whispered, letting his full meaning become clear.

She hesitated, before taking a deep breath, "I cannot, because…I can't tie you to a lifetime of having to carry this burden too," her eyes were looking into his so earnestly.

"It's not a burden to me," he quietly whispered.

"So will you forgive me?"

"It's already forgotten." He looked at her so forlornly that it made her heart wrench, and she could almost hear it thudding in her chest.

"Well, here is part of the bridal party at least!" Robert said happily as he brushed into the room, causing Finn to step apart from her suddenly.

Sybil composed herself and looked up at her father, "I take it you haven't seen Mary or Matthew at all today then?"

'No, and I don't expect too. They took breakfast in their room," he chuckled to himself. "So, what time are you off Finn? I understand you're leaving us today."

'Aye sir, I take the train back to London shortly."

"Well, we shall be sorry to see you go. You must promise to come back and visit when you're next on leave, isn't that right Sybil dear?"

She looked up at Finn and their eyes locked, her breath coming out in quick succession, a feeling of fear edging down through her shoulders. _Was it fear?_ She thought. _Yes, fear for him._ Suddenly the telephone rang and jolted them out of the moment, her father stepping into the hall.

"You must promise to write to me," she said, giving him a difficult smile, trying to regain her composure.

"I will," he solemnly said, as she reached out for his hand.

"Be careful." She whispered. He brushed his lips ever so gently against her ashen fingers.

"I meant what I said you know."

"I know," she smiled sadly at him as he placed his peaked officer's cap upon his head, and with a final sincere look goodbye, he turned and left.

…

Matthew lay still and just watched her, her head resting peacefully against him, her long brown hair spread wildly over his chest, tickling his chin. Her naked skin against his, soft and smooth. He closed his eyes and thought about the last two days and smiled. They had spent the entire day after their wedding in bed, no one had questioned them, and no one needed too. They were married. They had slept, and ate, and talked, and made love over and over again. He couldn't get enough of her. It would keep him sane, he had thought, when he went back to the mud and the rats and the stench. He felt his heart heavy then, and his breath tightened. _I don't want to leave her. After this, how can I leave her?_ He took a deep breath to steady himself. It was the first time he had thought about it since he had received the letter from the war office. The first time since he had paced up and down at Crawley House and his friend had snapped him out of it. _You will go back and do your duty, and then you will come home to your wife._ Try as he might, he just didn't believe it. It wasn't possible, he thought. The longer he spent on the front line the shorter his chances became. So many that had come before him, were gone, and so many more that had come after him had been lost. All the while, he stood amongst it, breathing, living, loving. It was an impossible dream, and now he had to go back. But this time he felt numb, as if death had granted him this brief moment of happiness in consolation before it threw him headlong into a terrible battle. He pushed the thoughts out again before it could consume him. _They still had half a day._ Slowly he ran his hand down her shoulder, along the curve of her hip to her bottom where he rested his hand briefly like a gentle caress. She started to stir and slowly turned and looked up and him sleepily. "_Good morning,"_ he whispered, kissing her forehead gently.

"Good morning darling. Do you think we shall have to make an appearance today?" she softly laughed against him, and he could feel her chest quietly bob up and down on his in her good humour. He looked at her so solemnly, he didn't mean too, but she caught his glance before he could perfect a smile and he instantly regretted it as her face slowly changed to match his.

"You're leaving today." She leant up on his chest to look at him properly, her hair falling down around her shoulders, her eyes imploring his.

He let out a painful sigh, "I don't mean to cast such a gloom. I wish I could stay. I don't know how I will find the courage to leave you."

But she suddenly brightened, and leant down to kiss him. 'I don't know how I will find the courage to let you go, but, I do so in the knowledge that I love you, and you will come back to me."

"_Mary…"_ he hadn't believed it, and she could see the conflict in his eyes.

"No. I won't accept that Matthew. You promised me, remember? Besides, I am planning our honeymoon so you have to come back, if you wish to enjoy it. Otherwise, well I don't know, I may have to invite somebody else…"

Suddenly he grasped her by the waist and flipped her over so that she was underneath him, pinning her arms above her as he grinned down at her mischievously. "I thought we were on our honeymoon?"

She laughed at him, "two nights at Downton Abbey does not a honeymoon make, Captain Crawley."

He reached down and kissed her, "so, where are we going?"

'You'll just have to wait and see…" she replied, her heart thudded, barely concealing a giggle that escaped her lips and he captured them in kiss momentarily, before his mouth moved sensuously along her jaw and over her throat. "Ahhhhh" she let out a long sigh, "I'm still not telling you," she said breathlessly, and he just looked back at her, the thoughts of the trenches and the guns and the impending battle crossing his mind briefly as they made love again, feverously clinging to each other in an harmonious passion, the sound of their gasps filling the air around them as their bodies moving as one hurtled towards oblivion until, finally satiated, they collapsed in each other's arms. He held on to her tightly, making a note of every curve on her body, remembering every noise she made when his lips moved over her skin, every shudder of her, the way she buckled under him, the warm smell of their sex. The way her hand curled unconsciously around the soft hairs on his chest afterwards, their feet entwined. The way her breathing slowed as she drifted off to sleep. He wanted to remember all of it.

...

_So so sorry for the long delay in posting this chapter, but crikey I've been so busy, a good kind of busy though. I've have however, figured out where this story is headed, writing it in my head at least. I don't think I am going to be able to post every day as I had been but will try and get them up as quickly as possible. Ooooo some action and drama is coming! Thanks for reading and sticking with me….please review if you can! _


	24. Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Three

By the time Matthew arrived back to his regiment at the front, it had shifted and the tide of war had turned. The New Zealand division of the third army had captured Bapaume on August 29, and the Australians, still leading the charge for the fourth were able to push forward from Amiens and capture Peronne and Mont Saint-Quentin on the 31st. During the last week of August the pressure along the 70-mile front was heavy and unrelenting and talk had spread amongst the ranks that Germany was trying to make peace with the Belgians and the Dutch. The enemy was on the run, but they still continued to launch strong counter attacks on already lost positions while the British Expeditionary Force pushed on, taking contested towns and villages and trenches, closing in on the Hindenburg line. Matthew had hardly had a chance to break from fighting since he had returned, as they advanced and advanced, taking Epheny on 18 September and finally coming to rest on the edge of the St Quentin Canal. The British forces, swelled by fresh American troops, prepared for a final assault on the entire length of the line in the final hope of breaking the back of their formidable foe.

…

Mary had spent the preceding three weeks rather well, she had thought, keeping her mind busy with Sybil and trying to keep it off Matthew. They took long walks over the estate, and although she had not had any letters from him, Sybil had received several from Finn who reassured her of their safety. It was a false economy of course, for at night when she was by herself she felt the terrible loneliness seep in. She pictured his face covered in mud, sheltering in some horrible trench while the enemy attempted to blow his brains out. She would clutch at the bed sheets in terror before waking, a cold sweat glistening on her forehead, and in the morning the waves of nausea would flow through her. Sometimes, after breakfast, she would wander over to Crawley House and just sit in his bedroom, holding onto his favourite coat. It had become an acceptable pastime for her, and Isobel Crawley had come to admire the young woman's strength and endurance and love for her son. It was in that state that she found her, quietly weeping.

"Mary? Are you alright my dear?"

She quickly wiped away the tears and put on a brave face. "Perfectly…I just, I just came to see that everything was in order," as she slowly folded the old hunting jacket.

"I see. Well, have you given any thought to moving in? Or have you and Matthew not discussed where you will live when he returns?"

"We haven't talked about it, and I don't know." Suddenly the room was spinning and she felt terribly ill, and making a quick excuse she burst out into the hall and into the bathroom, collapsing on the floor as she retched into the bowl. Her hand shaking as she pulled the cord, the water swirling around almost made her feel sick again. She leaned back and saw Isobel looking at her curiously, as she passed her a glass of water.

'It must have been something I ate," she looked up at her, slowly getting to her feet.

"Is it? How long have you been feeling ill?" she asked, as she put the back of her hand against her forehead.

"Only a day or so, really it's nothing."

"And is it always at this time?" she asked enquiringly.

'Oh but you don't think…_no, I don't think so._" She quietly whispered.

"You have been quite emotional lately my dear."

'Well, you would be too if your husband was fighting in France!" she said exasperatingly. "I am sure it's nothing, but I will see Dr Clarkson this week if you wish," as she quickly made her exit. She couldn't be could she? She placed a gentle hand over her abdomen, _god if I am, please keep him safe._

…

"They're saying this war is going to be over soon Sir, that Jerry has had enough." William said as he helped Matthew out of his greatcoat.

"They're not the only ones." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the little toy dog, placing it next to her portrait.

'Well, I bet you can't wait to get back to her sir, Daisy wrote me and told me of your wedding. She said Lady Mary was a picture."

"She was," he smiled fondly at the memory. "She's busy planning our honeymoon. Hopefully I will be able to write to her now we have finally stopped advancing."

"Do you think there might be an armistice soon, Sir?"

"Not before we have to break through their line there won't be. HQ is making rumbling sounds about a final assault. The Americans have already gone over, and we will be following soon I should think."

"But there's been no artillery bombardment." William said confused, "usually the big guns would have started by now."

"Well, perhaps we have a reprieve." He had spoken too soon, as a runner arrived in his dugout with orders from divisional headquarters with one word. Attack.

…

In the early morning of September 29 the British Army began their final advance. There was no customary bombardment because the Americans, who had begun their attack on the 26th, had failed to reach their objective and in the confusion Allied Command didn't know where they were. For fear of bombing their own troops they were to advance without the usually effective aerial display. Matthews regiment was to cross the St Quentin Canal, with the aid of life-belts and collapsible boats and, using scaling ladders, were to seize the fortified machine gun positions on the far bank.

With dawn almost breaking, he crouched down quietly beside the still waterway, as the rest of his regiment and a few more from the North Midland infantry slowly crept forward through the reeds, quietly carrying the boats, their life vests already strapped around them. He couldn't yet make out the far side, but reports were they were facing several machine gun posts placed high up on the stone embattlements. They moved slowly and silently as they gently eased them into the water and he could almost hear the sound of his own heart thudding in his chest in anticipation. Quietly, they began to dig their paddles into the still liquid, pushing them forward through the blackness. Matthew sat at the front of the boat with several others, his rifle pointing forward over the bow, his ears straining to hear any sound that may come from the other side. They went on, and on, into the darkness, their silence moving like a ghost as everyone held their breath. Matthew's heart began to slow a little almost in relief, as if the enemy had perhaps already retreated, when suddenly machine gun fire opened up and engulfed them, piercing like steel arrows into the water as men began to fall and flail around him until the river ran red.

…

Major Findlay MacDonald heard it first before he saw the results from that morning's fight. His unit had been moving behind the advance for several weeks, tending to the wounded as they, in their steady stream, were brought behind the lines. The sound of the machine guns in the distance always sent a shiver through him, as if he could feel the impact of men falling with every tut tut tut after seeing firsthand the consequence of their terrible invention. As more men began to be evacuated to his field hospital though, first-hand reports slowly started to come in. "What a terrible slaughter," one has said, "Waste of jolly good men," said another. When he pressed them, a jolt of fear spread down through him and settled in his stomach like a sickness.

_ "They have been all but decimated."_

_'Who?"  
_

_"The Duke of Manchester's Own."  
_

…

_Hehe, bit of a cliff there… also the background battle information and dates about the advance are all true. Yep, the British army (which in reality was the Australian Corps) had to advance without artillery because the American attack was unsuccessful. They do like to take the credit for ending WW1 but really they were quite inexperienced and lacked enough officers to lead them. Many of them, without leadership, actually ended up joining ad-hoc units of Australians who had to fight hard for the ground that the Americans failed to capture. The British 46__th__ Division was the one who crossed the St Quentin Canal capturing over 4000 German prisoners._


	25. Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Four.

William could sense a frightening thunder approaching and as they had edged further out from the shore towards their enemy he was becoming more and more apprehensive. He stood just behind Matthew, clutching onto the scaling ladder that he was to throw up to the escarpment. _At least three machine guns,_ they had been told earlier. He swallowed his own fear down and gripped more tightly to the grapple hooks as the guns opened up around him, puckering and spluttering into the water with a whoosh, the men in the boats firing back in desperation, shooting blindly through the gently breaking dawn. Suddenly he could feel his Captain's body compulse in front of him, and was about to take him by the arm when abruptly he was gone, disappearing into the blood red turbid water below, quickly filling with men thrashing and with more floating still-like, dead.

…

Matthew saw it before he felt it, as he looked down and saw a red mark on the right side of his uniform quickly spreading and advancing over his chest like a wave. His blue eyes stood out in shock against his pale face as the realisation struck him, he let out breath and all at once he was falling.

…

Mary was sitting in the drawing room at Crawley House with Matthew's mother and the Dowager Countess, taking tea and talking about her plans for their honeymoon when all of a sudden she felt an ice-cold grip encircle her heart. She dropped her tea over the floor with a gasp, the cup tumbling down and out as if in slow motion, bouncing off the thick rug, a wave of nausea flowing down through her body, reaching her knees. Her hand gripped the side of the chair, her knuckles white like bone china against the dark mahogany wood.

"Good God Mary are you quite alright?" her grandmother had asked her, looking very concerned.

"Yes, yes, I just suddenly felt terribly cold."

Isobel stood, and placed a warm hand again against her forehead. "Well, I think perhaps you might be ill after all Mary, why don't you go up to Matthew's room and lie down and I'll see if I can fetch Doctor Clarkson."

…

The water was so cold that Matthew could feel its depths reach into him as he slipped quickly down below the surface as if in some strange dream. He could see her face, grey like stone, looking back at him from the surface. It was so quiet, so peaceful. _Mary._ He tried to call out to her but he couldn't open his mouth, he tried to reach out to her but his arms felt heavy like rods of iron. And just as suddenly he was bursting out towards the surface again, a vice like grip around his shoulders as his head broke through and out into the morning sun. The noise of the battle hitting his eardrums as men thrashed and struggled around him, the sounds of the guns blasting over their heads, men shouting, the sounds of bullets splintering through wood as more men tumbled into the water and he could feel William's breath on his cold neck, he could hear his voice urgently in his ear, calling him, with one arm around his chest and the other clasping and reaching for the shore.

…

By the time William had dragged Matthew up onto the embankment and sort what little shelter he could find in the long reed grass, Matthew was unmoving, cold, his pale eyes opened slightly, his lips trying to move but finding no sound, his uniform the colour of a watery blood dye that had turned his blonde hair red. It lay plastered over his forehead as his lips began to shiver, the only sign of his being alive. In one swift movement William took him onto his shoulders and, with some difficulty, started to trudge up the slope towards their starting point, the weight of his water filled uniform making his exhausted steps like a journey back from hell.

…

Finn had commandeered one of the ambulances and was driving as quick as he could towards the canal, he could still hear the sounds of machine gun fire emptying their terrible load across the gap. He thought of Sybil and her own terrible injuries as he drove on, hoping to do what he could to save his friend, but the troopers word kept echoing around in his mind. _Decimated._

…

William was talking to him the entire time as he trudged as best he could. He could feel the Captain's blood slowly dripping down over his collar and into his shirt. It was warm and sticky. His breath was labored as he tried to keep his spirits up, he didn't even know if he could hear him but he was too afraid to put him down in case he was already dead. So he slogged on in the hopeless belief that not knowing was better. He talked about Lady Mary and how she would want to see him again. He talked about Lord Grantham and how proud he must be of him, and he talked about Daisy, and how they were going to go back to the farm when he got home. He was halfway through this last sentence when he fell to his knees, his tin hat tilted up as the strike of a single bullet carved a path through the back of his skull. Matthew slid off his shoulder in front of him as he fell forward into the reeds, his broken head coming to rest on his stomach, and he was still.

…

By the time Finn arrived, men were already staggering back, and more still advanced in a second wave. He grabbed and clasped at the faces of those limping back behind the line in the hope of seeing him. The closer he got to the edge of the canal, the louder the gunfire became, as stray bullets pocketed into the reeds, the soft sound like a rush of wind. He saw William first, his peaceful face staring straight at him and he recognised him from Mary's first day. _The boy who ate his sandwiches._ He doubled-over and crouching in a half-run started to make his way over to him, but he instantly realised that he was already dead before he had even taken two steps. He slowed and ducked again as another bullet whizzed into the long grass beside him, desperately searching for a safe way to retreat as more gunfire raked over his position. He dived down into the reed grass behind the boy, hoping it added an element of cover, however briefly. He immediately let out a shocked gasp as Matthew's pale face came into his view. He crawled forward slightly and grabbing his uniform by the epaulettes, he dragged him backwards.

…

Doctor Clarkson arrived at Crawley House an hour or two later and spent some time with Lady Mary, checking her temperature, listening to her heart, and asking her endless questions before making his diagnosis. When was your last cycle? _4 weeks ago. _How long have you been feeling poorly? _Two days. _Have you been sleeping? _Not really, but then I worry about Matthew. _

"Well, to be honest Lady Mary, I think you are over tired and stressed and it's putting an unnecessary strain on your body."

"So she's not pregnant?" the voice of Matthew's mother echoed across the room, causing Mary to look up at her in horror.

"No, I don't think so. But we can revisit that if your cycle has not started in a few days. In the meantime, you need to rest."

Isobel insisted Mary stay right where she is, and Mary obeyed, climbing under the covers, the smell of Matthew still lingering on the pillow comforting as she fell into a restless sleep.

…

By the time Finn managed to pull Matthew up the bank and down the other side the entire right side of his uniform was stain red with blood. His breath was slowing, coming out in ragged gasps, his lips almost blue from loss of blood and cold. He ripped his tunic open and tore at the bloody shirt covering him to the jagged tear that had rent a hole through his chest. Just as quickly he compressed a bandage over it, wrapping it as tightly as he could before lifting him, hurriedly, into the ambulance.

…

Mary had only been asleep for a few hours when the sound of a painful cry tore from Isobel Crawley's lips and screamed up the stairs towards her. She awoke with a start, and throwing the blankets off of her she tumbled down the stairs.

"What is it? What has happened?" she said urgently, seeing the look of grief and panic in the older woman's eyes. She couldn't speak, she simply held out the telegram towards her.

_Saint-Quentin 29 September 1918_

_Mrs Isobel Crawley: Crawley House, Downton_

_It is with some difficulty I send this message to you; I do so, so you may break the news to Mary as gently as possible. Matthew was badly wounded this morning. He is with me at the field hospital as above. He is too ill to be moved. Please know I am doing all I can and will notify you promptly should circumstances change._

_ Major F Macdonald, MD._

A dreadful gasp escaped Mary's chest and she fell back into one of the Edwardian chairs, her hands shaking as she smoothed her grey skirts down.

"It says, it says he's alive Mary, we must have hope," her mother-in-law said, as she tried to compose herself from her initial shock, and Mary just nodded, tears falling down her cheeks. Suddenly she was up, calling for Moseley.

"I need the car, I need you to take me to the station, immediately, there isn't a moment to waste."

"The station? Mary! You cannot be serious, you…"

But Mary cut her off, "I am very serious. I will not wait to receive bad news from France, I am going. He needs me," she said, as she was already half way out the door.

"Wait!" Isobel looked to pause for a second, before hurrying after her, "I'll come with you."

…

_I am on a roll! Shall I let him live or let him die? Tempting...and really, you don't know where I live, so... hahaha. (Just kidding) You'll just have to wait and see, esse._


	26. Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Five

Matthew was cold. He had never felt so cold in his whole life. His mind was numb as he remembered slowly. How a sudden breath had escaped from his mouth, the unexpected shock spreading out from his chest, the freezing waters surrounding his body, sucking him under. And then redemption, William taking him under his arms, reaching the shore, his back hitting the muddy earth and waking to a blue sky above as the force of it jerked his eyelids open. He had blinked, and for a moment he thought he was with Mary. It was a warm summer's day and they were lying out on the great lawn at Downton, side by side, making shapes out of the clouds that leisurely passed overhead. She was wearing a light blue patterned dress and he could see the feminine shape of her thighs through the thin material. She reached for his hand and their fingers met, barely touching, her gentle laughter filling the air around them. He had pulled her to him then, his hand resting lightly on her hip, the sun blinking like a warm caress through her dark chestnut hair. He remembered her smile, so genuine, and his heart swelled. Her lips tasted like peaches and mint as he ran his tongue over them smiling down at her and she laughed again, their happiness like a shelter. But the noise suddenly interrupted his daydream with the constant rat-a-tat of the rifles rapid rattle and the sound of the reeds rustling as the bullets whizzed by with a puck into the bank. Then he felt a weight pressing down on him and when his hand moved over his stomach he could feel the soft hair of his batman, his loyal servant, and the blood trickling over his forehead. He tried to move, to reach for him, to save him, but he knew that he couldn't be saved and then the pain seared across his chest again and he shut his eyes, he tried to shut it all out.

The next time he awoke he could feel the pitch and toss of the ambulance as it rumbled along the road. Above him a khaki stretcher swayed from side to side, a limp hand dangling down towards him, drip drip dripping blood onto his arm. He couldn't move. He couldn't cry out. He closed his eyes again and prayed before unconsciousness enclosed him. He wouldn't remember the next two days. He wouldn't remember how Finn had stayed with him that night, holding his hand as he had deliriously cried out in a morphine induced desperation. He wouldn't remember saying her name, over and over, forming on his lips again and again; hardly able to breathe it out before it was lost in the ether air. He wouldn't remember her soft caress, the sound of her voice calling to him in her own desperation, and his own mother's cries; _oh my darling boy._

…

When Mary and Isobel finally arrived at the hospital Findlay had already spent the previous twenty-four hours trying to save his friend's life. It had started down there on that river bank amongst the reeds and the dead bodies of his comrades. A bullet's tear through the right side of Matthew's chest had rent a jagged scar out the other side. He had felt his calling as a doctor the greatest at that moment, that moment when he saw his friend hanging onto the life he knew. He was so pale; the blood forming like a pool underneath him, his chest turned a scarlet red. Like some grotesque horror it reminded him of Matthew's scarlet mess uniform, and like a dream he reversed some four weeks earlier and saw him standing nervously at the altar. He remembered how he had smiled anxiously at him and with excitement too, as Mary had appeared at the other end of the church. He could see his face, the appearance of absolute awe as he had looked past him to his future wife. How he had whispered to her, _you look beautiful. _He saw Sybil's face too, and how happy she had been that day, how their happiness had made her forget her own pain for a while. He had to blink to pull himself back to reality, to this day's disfigurement as he looked down at Matthew, ghost-like lying in the mud. He breathed out a painful gasp. _How did we get from there to here? _It was almost too difficult for him to grasp. And then just as quickly, he was angry. So angry that after he had retired that night, after he had spent the six hours with his friend on the operating table, after he had administered more morphine to him and given instructions to the nurses, after he had sent that telegram back to Downton, after he had pulled up a chair next to his bedside, after that, he had paced then, outside in the hallway, up and down, his hands wringing anxiously in front of him, and he had with indescribable wrath slammed his fist into the wall. "_He has to make it. He has to make it for us to make it."_ And he had leaned against the wall then, his tired arms taking his own weight, he sighed, as if his own happiness relied on his friend living and breathing and loving again, too. As if Matthew's living and Mary's happiness were inextricably linked to his own possible happiness with Sybil. As if they were all bound somehow, and should that link break, should he meet his end, it would spell the end of his tie to _her. _

…

_Relatively short chapter I know but wanted to get you something. I promise to get another more comprehensive one out tomorrow (NZT Sunday). And remember to review! I really appreciate it ..chur chur _


	27. Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Six

Granny had broken the news to them at luncheon that Matthew had been terribly wounded on the battlefield at Saint-Quentin Canal. They had all sat in silence in the library unable to form any words. Robert had leaned against the mantle of the fireplace and taken a deep breath, as if the world had just been forced out of him. He had come to love Matthew like a son, and well, he was. He was his son-in-law and heir. He thought about Mary. He had long given up trying to tell her what to do, and although he was concerned about her having left for France he felt more comfortable that Isobel had gone with her. He couldn't blame her. It was clear to him the extent of her love and he said a silent prayer right then and there begging God to spare him, for her sake at least. Cora had simply let a gasp escape as she slumped dramatically into the settee, the tears freely flowing down in an emotive rain that caused the Dowager Countless to glance over and mutter under her breath that now was not the time to go all American. But it was hard for her to be too critical, the tears in her own eyes poking out from under her feathered hat. Sybil had simply looked down at her hands. The war had taken so much that she was numb. She closed her eyes and saw Finn's devastated face. _I don't want to have any regrets._ She closed her own eyes and clasped the arms of her wheelchair, a feeling of anger and sorrow pierced through her. She could almost feel her own legs, willing her to stand, to pace, to stride out in frustration, and to softly step over to embrace her father. Her hands were shaking, when she felt her leg tremble. She glanced up in panic, wondering if anyone else had seen, but then she looked down again as if she had imagined it all along.

"Sybil darling are you alright?"

Her grandmother had looked over at her as she clasped onto the sides of her wheelchair, a look of utter confusion on her face. Her eyebrows jolted up in surprise at a voice, when everyone had been so quiet.

"Perfectly fine Granny. I'm just, thinking of Cousin Matthew of course." But she clasped the armrest harder still as the first time in over a month a sense of hope flowed through her, hope amongst all the agonising ruin. She felt like she didn't deserve it.

…

The journey to Saint-Quentin had been incredibly taxing, more so than when Mary had arrived with Valerie the year before. That was before it had fallen to the Germans, and now, back in allied hands Mary could see how much it had changed. The town itself was mostly mortar and rubble. The great stone church that had sat in all its splendor in the centre of the square had lost its spire, having toppled down when the fourth army had bombarded the town not a month prior. The war was coming to the close. That was the discussion around every table, at home and abroad. The Allies were on the cusp of a dramatic victory as the enemy pulled back behind the Hindenburg Line. Mary was exhausted, even before she had sat down by his bedside, having been unable to sleep a wink on the slow and arduous train journey from Calais. A heightened level of tension had run right through her body and taken up residence in her heart. Isobel had tried to be comforting and reassuring, but Mary knew that no amount of comfort could be found for her until she had Matthew's hand in hers. And finally at last that was where she had found herself. She pulled up one of the stools and leaned down towards him, brushing a golden lock of hair off his forehead. He was so incredibly pale, that it drew a gasp from her throat. Finn was standing ever so quietly behind her, before he finally whispered.

"I know it looks bad and I won't lie to you Mary, it is. But he's still alive when in all reality, he shouldn't be…" The statement had caused a cry to escape from Isobel's lips, and Finn turned. "I could lie to you too Mrs Crawley, but I feel you should be aware of all the facts. The bullet went through the right side of his chest and nicked a part of his liver. I was able to remove some of it, and repair the damage where I could. But, he has lost a lot of blood and there is no way to know whether there's any more internal bleeding." He gently laid a hand on Mary's arm as a series of sobs started to break out of her, her shoulders collapsing up and down with his every word. "But…he's still with us. He's fighting, so hard. If he can make it through another night, I think, I believe he'll pull through."

Mary continued to sob, her face draining of every colour. Isobel leant forward and wrapped her arms around her daughter-in-law and they just stayed like that for what seemed like minutes. Finally she spoke.

"He will make it Mary, I know he will. There is nothing he wouldn't do to come back to you. He told me so, before he left for France the last time. I believed him."

The tears were still welling in Mary's eyes. "I know. He promised me too. But what…" her voice started to tremble, "what if he just _can't_ this time_."_

'We must stay strong, for him," she had said it so pointedly as if she were trying to believe it herself.

Later, Finn had brought them in a rather large and comfy chair and another bed, and they were supposed to have taken turns to watch him through the night, but Mary had gotten little sleep. She simply held his hand and talked to him incessantly, about Downton, about the things she and Sybil had been up to in his absence. By the morning, she still hadn't left his side. Isobel was sleeping quietly on the other bed when Finn had tip-toed in.

He saw her, almost half asleep, leaning into Matthew, trying not to let her eyelids drop even for one minute for fear that when she awoke Matthew would be lost to her. He leant down and pulled her back gently by the shoulders.

"_Mary,"_ he whispered. She raised her face towards him but it was as if she didn't hear. "Mary?" He asked, more persistent this time, "you need to lie down. You look, well, you look terrible." She looked up at him through weary eyes and gave him a sad smile, sighing.

"_I'm fine here Finn…"_

"No, you really must get some rest. You've had a long journey and an even longer night. At least lets go and get something to eat I am sure I can rustle up some eggs for breakfast. What do you say?"

Mary looked forlornly back at her husband. "He's not going anywhere I promise," he smiled down at her, and as he took her by the elbow to help her to her feet a breath of air escaped from Matthew's lips.

"_Matthew!"_ suddenly she was leaning forward towards him, her hand clasping his as she looked desperately at his face. Slowly but surely his eyes fluttered open, and as they gradually adjusted to the light in the room he recognised the outline of her face. His lips curved up into a smile. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out, and Mary dipped a soft towel into water to dab his chapped lips, squeezing the delicate liquid into his mouth.

"_Darling"_ he whispered, a frown crossing his brow as he tried to take stock of her face, as if he might already be dead and she an angel. The numbing calmness that the drugs bestowed on his body made it difficult for his mind to comprehend, but he slowly came around as Mary whispered soothing words into his ear. He squeezed her hand and a sense of utter relief flowed through her, as her head sank down towards her chest, deflating as the air slowly exhaled out in a quiet relief. She made to stand, to reach over to awaken Isobel, but she felt so light headed she had to reach forward to clasp at the bed in front of her. Finn grabbed her, a look of surprise escaping him as his arms encircled her waist in support. _"I'm so sorry, I don't feel well at all." _Her hand edging slowly down to her belly, the source of her pain, and in horror she brought it up to her face in confusion, her fingers red just like the front of her dress and almost in slow motion she fell back into his arms.

Matthew saw her double over and his face went from a blissful smile to one of fear and confusion. He tried to sit up but the pain in his chest tore him down again as her name, like a ragged gasp, came from his lips.

Isobel awoke with a start looking to Matthew whose free arm was reaching out, when she looked suddenly to the cause of his anguish. "Oh Mary!" Quickly she reached her and gently they laid her on the bed where she had just come from. Her face was the color of ash as she apologised over and over. She looked up at Isobel and Finn, "Oh dear, I'm so sorry, I don't know what has come over me. I don't feel well at all." Isobel gently soothed her, telling her everything would be alright.

"What is wrong with me?"

Finn's face fell, as he took her hand, looking over to Matthew, whose own face had turned towards them, straining to see, his voice coming over to them in panic.

"Where's Mary, what's going on? What's wrong?"

"Don't worry yourself about it Matthew," he said, "She'll be alright."

"Don't worry? How can I not damn you, _where is my wife!"_ he was straining now, trying to raise himself off the bed and Finn grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him down again.

"Stay still, you'll break your stitches you fool."

"What's going on!" he demanded again, and lay back as he saw the look of dread cross his friends face.

"I'm sorry Matthew, she…she had a miscarriage. She's lost the baby."

"_What?"_ Finn saw the look of utter confusion as Matthew's eyes searched his.

"_You…you didnae know?" _He whispered.

"No one knew." His mother's voice echoed across to them as she lay a wet towel on Mary's forehead. "We suspected, but then…Doctor Clarkson said that she wasn't, and then, then Matthew was wounded…and well, we didn't really think about it again…"she left it hanging sadly in the air like a gunshot.

"How is she? Is she alright?" he whispered, turning his face over to where she was lying.

"She's exhausted, she needs rest. We'll take care of her darling I promise, you should rest now too."

"How can I?" he said distressed, _"we…we lost our baby,"_ he whispered before falling back into a restless oblivion.

…

_Tough I know. If you haven't already, please review _


	28. Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Seven

Mary awoke the following day with a sense of sadness. Her hand slowly drifted down to rest on her abdomen, pausing there quietly in some kind of reverence. She almost felt a sense of shock; as if she had suddenly realised there was a baby, only to discover just as suddenly that there was not. She felt confused, empty. Her heart started to beat in an uncontrollable ache and a soundless gasp escaped her lips as she breathed out a bellyful of air in regret. _Why do I feel so tired? _She made to get up, thinking only now of going to Matthew, she wanted nothing more than to hear his reassuring tone, the touch of his strong hands, the warmth of his blue eyes, when a calm and reasonable voice took her by the hand and whispered in her ear.

"Matthew is fine Mary dear, just stay where you are."

Suddenly and without warning she burst into tears, the sobbing gasps sucking in the air and bursting out again in a quivering mess as Isobel wrapped her arms around her desolation. She just couldn't comprehend it. As if the last four years of war had suddenly come to the ultimate crescendo. "_I don't know why. I don't know…wh why..." she_ had sobbed loudly into her mother-in-laws arms as they tightened around her. She had a feeling of absolute anguish like a wave coursing through her whole body, as it shook to its core. After a little while, as her sobs began to calm, Isobel had asked quietly, ever so gently, "what don't you know Mary?"

She looked at her, her green eyes so innocent amongst the horror of all of the tormented men's bodies that she had come to witness. Her face picturing that of Matthew, so pale and so cold against the white linen sheets of the hospital bed, the tightly wrapped bandages of his wound seeping the red liquid to the surface like some slow maker of death. She gasped again and slowly whispered.

"_I don't know why this has happened to us. Why we keep living this cruel nightmare. I just want it to be over Isobel," _another gasp escaped her lips tiredly, _"I want the war to end. I want to go home. I want Matthew and I to live our lives like we're supposed to, in peace. And…and I want us, to surround ourselves with our children and watch them grow. And now…now…" _she sobbed again, her hand quivering as she clasped the blanket over her drained body, her voice barely audible, _"now we've lost one of them…."_

"Oh my darling girl hush," Isobel had whispered as her hand came around her head, stroking her hair gently. "You will have all those things I promise. They will come. And in a year from now, or two even, you'll look back on this and you will be better for overcoming it. I know it doesn't feel like it now, but you must be strong." They stayed like that for some time, just holding on to each other. Finally Mary had whispered, _"How is Matthew?"_ Her eyes had appealed, almost pleaded with the older woman, "I want to see him," she had said as she made to get out of the bed Isobel had taken her to. It was in a separate room, private, where she had undressed her. She remembered sadly how Mary had, almost by automation, allowed her to lift her dress over her arms, her pale limbs falling back unconsciously by her sides as numb like a ghost she removed her bloody clothing. Her eyes were glazed over, almost drunk with fatigue, and Isobel was able to guide her like a puppet, move her in any direction she wished as if Mary was out of her body, weak-like and frail.

"Of course you do my dear." She had whispered back. "But you really should rest."

Mary didn't argue. She had felt so utterly exhausted and it wasn't just the journey from Downton. It wasn't just the worry and fear for Matthew with a bullet through his chest. It was the epitome of four years of a cruel war. It was the death of her friend Valerie by that roadside near Flers. It was Sybil bent and broken with plaster dust in her hair. It was William, with his head torn open, falling into the muddy reeds. It was all the boys in the promise of their crisp olive uniforms cut down in their youth, their fledgling bodies lying in the hospital garden, the freshly dug earth covering them with the King's blanket. And it was their baby, without even a moment to breathe, to live, to love, lost in a heartbeat. A sense of overwhelming sadness engulfed her and she fell into a restless sleep.

…

_Very very very short chapter I know but wanted to sum up Mary's loss…promise to get you a longer one over the weekend, hopefully with a bit of Matthews and maybe some Sybil and Finn. Thank for all your kind reviews thus far! Only a few more chapters to go I reckon!  
_


	29. Chapter Twenty Eight

Chapter Twenty Eight

Sybil sat alone in her room on the ground floor of Downton Abbey with her hands tightly clutching her thighs, squeezing, hoping to illicit any kind of feeling, even pain. At dinner that evening she had felt it again, a slow numbness spreading out from her lower back to a tingle down to her knees. She had almost gasped and excusing herself with a headache had asked Carson to push her back to her room. She hadn't dared had a chance to hope, but it had given her a renewed purpose. She knew she hadn't imagined it. That first time that she had felt it pulse through her she had thought she had dreamt it. Now, it was real. She massaged her thighs some more and braced her hand on the side table, willing herself to stand, her arm starting to quiver as she placed more forced down upon it, an unladylike grunt breathing out in the air around her, but try as she might she could not raise herself up. She swiped the water jug off the table in her frustration with an angry shout and collapsed back onto the bed. She heard Finn's voice echo in her ear as she remembered, _I meant what I said you know. _ She thought about him, his face earnestly appealing to hers when he had said it. He had called her darling and told her he loved her. _And what did I do! _ Sybil pounded her fist down on the bed next to her. _I sent him away._ She felt so utterly alone then, but at the same time a sense of purpose surged through her. She reached into the draw by the bed and pulled out a fresh sheet of writing paper and a pencil and got to work.

…

Mary made her way ever so slowly to Matthew's room. A feeling of dread flowed through her, like when she had initially felt the loss she had suffered the day before. _Would he be angry?_ She had thought, _would he be sad, like she was_? A myriad of thoughts went through her mind in a confused jumble. She could still feel the dull ache in her belly and her hand unconsciously made its way down there, pausing briefly, her hand fixed on the door knob before she boldly put on a brave face and stepped into the room.

He was sitting up against the pillows, his arm swathed in bandages as it was strapped tightly to his chest, preventing any movement. The morphine sent a dull numbness through his body, his eyes almost half closed.

"Matthew?" Mary had whispered quietly, sitting down next to him, picking up his one good hand in hers. He opened them and looked at her through a foggy haze.

"_Mary? Oh my darling."_ He whispered, his hand coming tightly around hers, and leaning forward her lips brushed the top of his forehead ever so gently.

"I thought I had lost you."

"_I'm not that easily lost," _he replied, a glimmer of his former humour sparkling in his eyes, just so relieved to see her.

"Did you hear? Did your mother tell you?" she asked, her eyes imploring his.

He smiled weakly, pulling her towards him, and leaning forward her head came to rest on his stomach. _"I know,"_ was all he could say, his hand slowly stroking over her silken hair. She looked up at him forlornly.

"I'm sorry Matthew."

"_Shhhh. Don't __apologise__ my love."_

Her tears had started again then, and his too, as one escaped from the corner of his eye, flowing slowly down his cheek.

"_I'm just so happy to see you. We'll have another chance I promise, and isn't that all that matters?"_

"Another chance?" she smiled at him sadly. _"Yes."_ He smiled back at her. He felt his heart ache, but he couldn't show it. He had to be strong, for her.

…

A week later Sybil had her reply. Doctor James Carnegie's broken and scrawled hand writing was hard for her to make out but there was no doubt about it. He invited her to his clinic in London for more extensive tests. Her Mother had been quite negative about the idea, afraid almost of giving her any hope and appealing to her to accept Clarkson's diagnosis.

"And what does Finn think?" Her father had asked, as he cracked his egg, the knife sawing across, at the same time he grabbed a piece of toast and dunked it in, his eyebrows rising up in a question as the family gathered over breakfast.

"Honestly Robert, why would Major MacDonald have an opinion about it?" Cora had suddenly said, looking disapprovingly at her daughter.

"Why shouldn't he?" Sybil said defensively, "Finn has been such a friend to me. He saved my life, for starters."

Cora looked again at her daughter, her eyes gazing over her critically.

"Don't bother giving me that look." Sybil had exasperated, "Finn has been there for me like no one else…even when…even when there was no hope, he made it clear to me that none of it matter." She quietly whispered.

"What are you saying Sybil? You cannot be serious?" Her mother had practically choked on her tea.

"Why wouldn't I be? Finn is a good man, a gentleman. If I was serious, I couldn't find a better one."

"Are you serious darling? Has he given you any indication?" her father looked at her sincerely.

"I can't walk papa, regardless whether he is serious or not, I will not take that step, pardon the terrible pun."

Her father didn't laugh. "And if Doctor Carnegie should tell you that you will recover, which I pray he will?" His eyes were searching his daughters.

"Why don't we cross that bridge when we come to it," her mother had tried to end the conversation. She hadn't seen it coming and she wasn't going to entertain it. "Attachments can be formed in times of war that, once everyone has their heads again can seem quite…inappropriate."

"Inappropriate?" Sybil was angry. "So Finn is inappropriate now? Why? Why should he be?"

"Oh come now Sybil, he is a very nice young man but really. He's a doctor and, a _Scotsman."_ She had practically whispered the last part as if he might suddenly appear before them with Robert the Bruce, brandishing a claymore.

"Edith!" Sybil appealed to her sister, "we should get going, I don't want us to miss our train to London. Goodbye Mama, I should go before I say something I regret."

"Sybil darling," her mother had beseeched her as Edith wheeled her out of the room, her husband giving her a judgmental look. "Really Cora, sometimes you can be quite unfeeling."

"Oh don't tell me you approve?"

"Approve of what? What we know is that Sybil is going to London to see if she can walk again. I don't think we should look any further along than that." And with that, he got up and followed his daughters out into the hall.

…

Sybil and Edith spent the next week at Doctor James Carnegie's suites at the Royal Hospital London. He performed numerous tests and implemented a new form of physical therapy overseen by one of his colleagues, an older gentleman by the name of Moore, who as it happened, liked gin a little too much. Sybil didn't care, she did everything they asked of her, despite the pain and discomfort it caused her. One thing was clear, _she could feel!_ And with that knowledge she pushed and pushed herself, hoping it would be enough to see her on her feet again.

The days had been particularly grueling. Doctor Moore had her performing all manner of exercises that left her exhausted. Edith spent most of the time by her side, only leaving at night to retire back to Aunt Rosemund's house in Eaton Square. By the end of day five, Sybil was able to stand on her own and even take a few tentative steps. Relief had flowed through both of them then.

"Well," Doctor Carnegie had declared, "I suppose this makes Finn and I square."

"Square about what?" Sybil looked at him in surprise.

"He didn't tell you? Well, let's just say he has a good right hook. I expect to be invited to the wedding. " He winked cheekily at Edith, whom he spent most of the time flirting uncontrollably with.

"Oh…" Sybil's face fell, "We're not, together. We're not, engaged or anything."

"Really? Well there's a surprise. Had I of known that I wouldn't have sent him a telegram."

"You…you what?"

'I telegrammed him. I'm sorry; I thought you were his fiancé. I didn't tell him much, just that I'm sending you back to Downton tomorrow."

"So we're going home?" Edith had looked almost disappointed.

"Well, you can walk can't you?" he had looked annoyingly at Sybil, "Well, you will, provided you follow my exercises to the letter, morning and night."

"Did he respond?" Sybil looked up at him hopefully but Carnegie was busy looking over another patient's x-ray.

"Who?"

"Finn….Major MacDonald."

"No, but why should he? Turns out you're not engaged."

Sybils face fell. Doctor Carnegie leaned out the door and shouted something to one of the nurses before turning back, completely unaware.

"Well, off you go then. Congratulations you can walk." As he shoed her away with the flick of his wrist.

Edith whispered quietly to Sybil as she wheeled her down the hall. "I can see why Finn doesn't like him much, he's so full of himself!"

"He's an ass." And they both burst out in the fit of giggles.

…

In another week, Mary, Matthew and Isobel had walked off the hospital ship at Dover. Matthew still had his arm wrapped in a sling but he was well on the road to recovery. When they arrived back at Downton they were greeted with noise and fanfare as the whole family, and servants, came out to greet him. Robert wrapped his arms around them with a warm embrace, Cora had cried and Granny had put her arm gently around Mary's waist and given her a squeeze. They themselves had been relatively quiet through it all, rather a reflection of all they had been through together, and were simply relieved to be home. Later that evening as Robert was retelling a story about how he got one of the new tractors stuck in the mud and ended up head first in a puddle with Isis licking his face, they had all laughed genuinely for the first time since they were married. Mary and Matthew locked eyes across the room and smiled. Yes, they were home for good.

Sybil had arrived home the day before, and they had laughed again with unrestrained happiness when she had stood, shaking by the fireside, but on her own two legs! Robert cried with joy looking at both his daughters, and he knew he had not been so happy in all his life. Suddenly they were pulled out of their laughter by Carson, who had been standing quietly by the door, his cough interrupting their revelry.

"Ahem, I do apologise my Lord, but a guest has just arrived. I told him it was far too late but he was insistent."

"Who is it Carson?" The Earl had said, his happy voice trailing across the room.

"Major MacDonald sir."

"Tell him it's too late to be calling at this hour Carson," Cora had said disdainfully, while Granny had merely looked at her and raised her eyebrows in some kind of amusement.

"Findlay? Nonsense. Show him in." the Earl stood to greet the Major, who was smartly dressed in his uniform of a dark green and blue tartan kilt and black dress jacket, the Black Grouse tail feathers protruding from his cap badge. He stood ramrod straight, from nerves mostly, as he entered the warm library. Immediately a smile crept over his face as he saw Sybil, standing by the fireplace.

Her eyes drifted up over him slowly, taking him in, relishing the sight of him from the depth of his scarlet garter flashes, up the flesh of his naked thighs, lean and muscular, past his sporran to his tightly fitted jacket that pulled across his chest, the gold crowns on his shoulders denoting his rank, his hands clasped behind him as if he were at attention. His dark hair was slicked back under his cap and his green eyes softened when he saw her. She blushed. It was as if everyone in the room suddenly became silent, and they were the only ones there. He felt his body relax as he looked at her.

"There now you see, I told you you would walk again," he said, almost in a whisper. He swallowed thickly as Robert embraced him, and he stood to attention again as if it would help him gain more courage. He turned to the Earl.

"I do apologise for interrupting Lord Grantham, but I have just come back from France and it couldnae wait." He had had his speech all prepared while on the three hour train journey from London. He glanced over at Sybil again before turning back to Robert, nervously. "I wondered…whether I could…steal a moment of your time?"

The room was silent, in a kind of surprise for a brief instant, before Sybil's voice echoed across to him, ever so quietly.

"_Yes."_

He turned back to her, surprised. "Yes?" He asked in return, his eyes desperately searching hers, unable to look away in case he broke the spell.

"Yes, I'll marry you." She took a sharp intake of breath waiting for him to respond, and in three quick strides he had crossed the room and wrapped his arms around her. Slowly his hands came up to cup her face as he breathed a sigh of relief against her lips. He looked at her so lovingly, his mouth only inches away, his breath coming out in a ragged exhale before he gently brushed them over hers ever so tenderly, and again, and then again when suddenly another cough echoed across the room, this time from Granny, her voice full of surprise and amusement.

"Well, it seems the castle walls have been breached my Lord, the Scots have sacked Downton."

Finn suddenly spun around, embarrassed, his hand holding onto Sybil's and he apologised, nervously, as if it could all be suddenly taken away.

Robert, seeing his discomfort, smiled, and merely said, "you my have permission," before going over to embrace them. Cora didn't get a chance to protest, the noise of Robert and Mary and Matthew, and even Granny, hugging and congratulating them filled the room and surrounded the happy couple.

…

_Bit late on delivery, sorry about that. One more chapter to go and it is complete! _


	30. Chapter Twenty Nine

_Delay of Olympic proportions, so my apologies. Here is the final installment…_

…

Chapter Twenty Nine

By the 29th of September the German Supreme Command informed the Kaiser that the situation was hopeless, and by October 5 they asked President Wilson to negotiate the terms of a ceasefire. By the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month of that fateful year of 1918, the war was finally over. They had all stood to attention in the great hall as the Earl of Grantham heralded the end. When the clock struck they lowered their heads in silent prayer to all the men lost, and to those who had returned irrevocably broken. The chime of the bell counting out eleven rang through the old house like the vanished. Matthew slowly reached down and took Mary's hand in his; he felt all the fear and the tension of the previous four years all fade away, and he felt much lighter for it. Sybil stood too, next to Finn, his arm resting lightly on her waist. He could smell the lavender soap in her hair as he turned and placed a gentle kiss against her temple. He felt at peace for the first time in his life. They would be married in the spring and she would wear a beautiful ivory dress with flowers in her hair. The uniforms of war finally dispensed with, and he in his family tartan. They had made quick work of removing it later that night as they passionately made love to each other. They put the past year's war and disfigurement behind them as they breathed and moved as one.

The terms of the armistice had been harsh. The First Lord of the Admiralty had said that they would squeeze the German lemon, until the pips squeak. If only they had known that it would lead to another even more destructive war that their children would have to face. But for now they would have another twenty years together in peace. Later that year, in December, Matthew was sitting at the breakfast table reading his newspaper as he had come to do every morning when Mary walked in and up behind him, slowly snaking her hands down over his chest. He leaned back in his chair, a slow smile of delight creeping across his mouth as he turned his head back against her cheek.

"Matthew darling…"

"Hmmmm?"

Her voice dropped down an octave before the warmth of her breath whispered against his ear, "We're going to have a baby."

He surprisingly tipped his newspaper forward, his body following it as he twisted around to face her, a look of shock as the realisation dawned on him before he jumped up with a shout and picking her up swung her about the room, planting kiss upon kiss across her jawline and up to her temple before placing her softly back on her feet. His breath was coming out in a thrilled puff at the impulsive exertion and he just stared at her in wonderment. They had both laughed then, as they often did, and had never been so happy as when their son had finally arrived: William Charles Findlay Crawley, followed in later years by another boy, Robert, and a girl they named Valerie. By 1928 they were moving into Downton Abbey as the Earl and Countess of Grantham after Robert succumbed to a long and painful illness. He had almost been resplendent though when he had finally slipped away into the night, his family gathered around him, and he was content. He had lived long enough to see his legacy continue down through his son-in-law and his eldest daughter and their eldest son.

Sybil and Finn often came to visit, with their two boys. They had started a rehabilitation hospital in Edinburgh for soldiers who had lost limbs during the war. Findlay was often featured in medical journals around the world for his pioneering techniques in prosthetics, and became known as the expert in his field, revolutionising modern medicine. One of his sons, Lachlan, followed in his father's footsteps and became a surgeon. And like his father, he would find himself on the battlefields of France too, but in 1944.

All in all, with Sybil and Finn, Matthew and Mary, theirs was a happy life filled with the laughter of their children, and later, grandchildren. Trials and tribulations would come to them over the course of their lives together, but, as they lay side by side in their last earthly bed, they knew they had accomplished much, given their all, and received rewards that even the poorest of creatures could cherish. No one was held with more love in their hearts than the other, and in the hearts of their children beating strongly, as was their birthright. They were grateful for all that they had, and for all that would come after them...

The end.

…

_I hope you liked the ending. If you haven't reviewed, now is the time Would love to hear what you thought of my story. Thanks! …AM_


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